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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25701463">That He May Walk</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/talisweet/pseuds/biowill'>biowill (talisweet)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ragnars saga loðbrókar | Saga of Ragnar Lodbrok, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Ambiguous Omega Genitalia, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Intersex Omegas, Knotting, M/M, Medieval AU, No mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Verse, Romance, Slow Burn, The saga of Ragnar Lodbrok, The saga of the Volsungs, Viking AU, plot heavy, very slow burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:29:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>128,960</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25701463</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/talisweet/pseuds/biowill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>**The characters in this fic are fictional characters inspired by characters of real people**</p><p><em>“He’s not part of the agreement,” the Earl replied, just shy of frantic.</em><br/><em>“Him,” the brute reiterated, his tone harsher and pointed. His hand rested on an axe strapped to his belt and the Earl’s eyes darted between it and Gavin.</em><br/><em>	“He’s a man. He’s a man and a beta. He’s… He’s a beta.”</em><br/><em>	“Him.” </em> </p><p>Gavin Free, third son of the Earl of Bamburg, has a terrible secret: he’s an omega. At age twenty-five, he’s resigned himself to hiding his nature for the betterment of his family and the preservation of his life. For Gavin, a quiet life in the church is the best he can hope for.<br/>When the Great Heathen Army of the north attacks Castle Bamburgh, and threatens the safety of Northumbria, Gavin is whisked away to the northern lands as part of the peace agreement. More worrisome than the harsh climate and the cold weather is the dangerous heathen king that chose him. A dangerous king that Gavin can’t help but be inexplicably drawn to.</p><p>A 9th century medieval A/B/O romance set primarily in Ribe, Denmark. Updates Saturdays!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gavin Free/Original Male Character(s), Jack Pattillo/Geoff Ramsey/Michael Jones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>402</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>260</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>WOW! I can't believe I'm finally publishing this. First ever fanfiction! This story is a big one, with most chapters averaging around 4-9k.<br/>A billion and one thank yous to my spectacular betas:<br/>Lou (my omega beta) and Noel (my alpha beta)<br/>You can find Lou and their writing <a href="https://deaadcrush.tumblr.com/">here</a><br/>You can find Noel's writing <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">here</a></p><p>I'm an SCAdian and MA student studying medieval history with an emphasis on Scandinavia and medieval travel, so I nerded out a bit in writing this. You by no means need to be familiar with Old Norse mythology to enjoy this, but if you do happen to be familiar, you'll enjoy it even more!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>New and beautiful moodboard made by the spectacular <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter One</p><p>
  
</p><p>“His… his name is Gavin.” The Earl of Bamburgh said, voice tight and uncomfortable. Gavin spared his father a glance but looked away just as quickly upon seeing his nervousness. He couldn’t remember the last time his father was so outwardly shaken. Perhaps a decade ago when Gavin first presented.</p><p>“Gavin,” the alpha said, voice deep and rumbling like the thunder rolling outside Castle Bamburgh. He was a beast of a man, taller than even the Earl, who had always seemed to Gavin like the tallest man in the world. The alpha was unnerving in his appearance, reminding Gavin of mosaics of demons and painted bestiaries. Black paint rimmed the alpha’s eyes, bleeding down with sweat, mixing with his beard and ashy, braided hair. He terrified Gavin.</p><p>He said something more in that strange, northmen tongue, words guttural and harsh. His translator’s words came next.</p><p>“He is mine.”</p><p>The alpha knew he was an omega, never mind the tinctures liberally applied to his neck and wrists. He glanced at his father again, finding him staring resolutely at the floor, so unlike the strict, authoritative alpha of his childhood. In the wake of the heathens of the north, Earl Bamburgh looked small. Meek.</p><p>“I understand,” Gavin whispered, voice cracking. He blinked rapidly to stop the tears from flowing and let out a shaky sigh. “Please have someone prepare my belongings.” It was for the good of Bamburgh, for the good of his family. For the good of Northumbria.</p><p>“You will not need them,” said the translator. “We will leave now.”</p><p> </p><p>⁂</p><p>The north was cold, much colder than Northumbria had ever been. Granted, Gavin had lived in the castle, and Bamburgh—while having its fair amount of wind and rain—had been quite temperate. Absolutely nothing like Danmǫrk with its perpetual cold and unyielding snow. His stoic traveling companions did little to soothe Gavin’s discomfort. And he had thought the sea sickness from sailing across the Narrow Sea was bad.</p><p> <em>“That’s all of them,” the Earl of Bamburgh said. His forehead was perspiring and though his voice was steady, Gavin could detect the strain in his father’s speech. </em> <em> “Not all,” the brute of a man said, words strangely accented. “Two sons.”</em></p><p> “We are nearing the <em>bœr</em>, Gavin of Bamburgh,” said the translator, the man with the best Ænglisc. It was an odd dialect, just different enough to Northumbrian to be confusing for Gavin, always keeping him off-guard. Not dissimilar to the entire past few weeks. </p><p> The translator was a giant of a thing, red-orange hair a braided mane at his head and a generous beard on his face. He was terrifying and were it not for the kind gaze in his eyes, Gavin might have refused to look at the man. There were few things Gavin did not feel frightened of while traveling with The Great Heathen Army. He was surrounded by men and women of remarkably tall stature, muscled far beyond even the strongest fighters in all of Northumbria and Mercia. Surrounded by nearly all alphas that rudely did not block their scent. Luckily the translator was not one of them.  </p><p>The translator was one of the rare betas for which Gavin was immensely grateful. He might have run away—Castle Bamburgh be damned—if he had to deal with the constant, dizzying scents of unfamiliar alphas alone.</p><p>
  <em> “Him,” the beast of an alpha said, nodding to Gavin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “He’s not part of the agreement,” the Earl replied, just shy of frantic, barely clinging to his legendary composure. Gavin would have been flattered for how greatly affected his father seemed, were it not for the situation. As it was, he couldn’t feel anything but anxiety.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Him,” the brute reiterated, his tone harsher and pointed. His hand rested on an axe strapped to his belt and the Earl’s eyes darted between it and Gavin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “He’s a man. He’s a man and a beta. He’s… He’s a beta.” The words lost their conviction as his father stuttered, too uncomfortable around the heathens to successfully lie.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Him.”</em>
</p><p> The roan horse Gavin rode snorted loudly and tossed its head making Gavin jump and immediately adjust his grip on the reins. He wasn’t used to a horse this size, nearly four hands larger than his own modest mount back in Bamburgh, and the horse clearly wasn’t used to being ridden by such an inexperienced rider. The past few days of riding it hadn’t done him any favors either, he was sore and every time he squirmed in discomfort, the horse retaliated.</p><p> The translator eyed Gavin before spoke. “Give him a good long pat right there on his shoulders.” </p><p> Carefully, Gavin shifted the reigns to his right hand and stroked the horse. It settled and gave an affectionate snuffling sound. He withdrew his hand, unwilling to touch the horse for longer than needed. Turning his head to his traveling companion, Gavin gave a nod of thanks to which the man smiled and gave a mock bow from upon his own steed.</p><p> “I feel rude for never asking your name,” Gavin commented after a few minutes passed. “Especially when you speak my language so well.” And because they had been traveling together for several weeks now.</p><p> The translator gave a short laugh. “I do not think you could pronounce it. Your people have a funny way with our words.”</p><p> “I’d like to know regardless,” Gavin said. If nothing else, Gavin could be polite. And try to repair his rudeness at neglecting to speak to his translator since leaving Bamburgh. In his defense, the translator hadn’t attempted to talk to him either. </p><p> “Jakaupr, son of Auðvin,” he said. “It is not a common name here.”</p><p> “Is it not?” Gavin asked. He was too nervous to be anything other than polite and diplomatic. Mentioning that the words of the northmen’s tongue all blended together in a mess of guttural sounds would surely be counterproductive to that, regardless of how greatly Gavin felt it. </p><p> “My father is from Garðarshólmi. Snowy and green. The tongues are similar but different. Just like yours and ours.” </p><p> Gavin didn’t comment on the comparison of their tongues. He’d never had a particular gift for noticing similarities in speech, always too caught up in the sea of difference. “Why did you leave Yaka…Yak-a—” Gavin cut himself off. “Apologies, uh…?”</p><p> Jakaupr chuckled though it didn’t feel unkind. “Jakaupr, say it softly and quickly.”</p><p> “Yah-ka-oo-per,” he tried again, struggling with the truncated vowels.</p><p> “Jakaupr.”</p><p> “Yeow-ka-peer?” Gavin ducked his head in embarrassment. Just one word, one name, and it evaded Gavin’s tongue like it would cost its life. He cleared his throat to try again, but was interrupted.</p><p> “Call me something else, Gavin of Bamburgh,” Jakaupr said. When Gavin glanced up, the man seemed more amused than offended, much to his relief. “It will take you time to understand and speak how we do. Until then, I will know a name that you can say.”</p><p> “I’m trying!” Gavin squawked. His eyes went wide when he realized how disrespectfully he had spoken and he glanced nervously to the northman.</p><p> For his part, Jakaupr seemed unperturbed by Gavin’s less-than diplomatic step and merely laughed. “Give me a name you can say, Gavin of Bamburgh. You will grasp our tongue quickly enough.”</p><p> Gavin thought for a brief moment. “Jack?” It was the name of the stable master at Castle Bamburgh, and the two shared the same soft eyes and big beard. And it had enough vague similarity to Jakaupr’s given name that it hopefully wouldn’t cause Gavin too much confusion when someone referred to Jakaupr instead of Jack.</p><p> “I like it. I will reintroduce myself: greetings to you Gavin of Bamburgh, I am Jack, son of Auðvin.” Jack said, smiling so brightly Gavin couldn’t help but smile back, albeit a little more subdued.</p><p> The horse Gavin rode huffed and relaxed, immediately becoming easier to guide. A childish, whimsical part of him thought it might have been because of the easy interaction between him and the northman. More likely, it was probably just relieved that his death grip upon the reins had loosened. He wasn’t a relaxed rider, he’d freely admit, horses terrified him; one good kick would kill you. Ah, and now Gavin remembered why he’d clutched at the reins to frightfully before. Searching for a distraction, and hopefully an easier ride, Gavin glanced at his traveling companion once again.</p><p> “ Why did you leave Gar—er, your original home, Jack?” </p><p> Jack idly scratched at his beard, effortlessly switching his reins and handling his mount. Gavin eyed the motion with a disheartened longing. His own horse would likely end their tentative alliance at such a bold move. A stock-still body seemed to be his only strategy. </p><p>“I left with Reginnvaldr. We met when I was just a boy, and he not much more than that. Taller than every man around by a head even then, when he was nothing more than a pup. Not yet an alpha but strong like one. He spoke, and we listened. It runs in his blood, you see. </p><p>“He came from Svíþjóð—you call it Sweoland—the land of one’s own, and Reginnvaldr was his own, even then. He’s the son of Ragnar Loðbrók, you know,” Jack paused, looking expectantly at Gavin. The name was obviously northern and Gavin couldn’t recall hearing anyone with such an odd name before. The look on Gavin’s face must have shown his confusion, because Jack continued.</p><p>“He was the alpha of Áslaug, who was the omega daughter of Sigurðr and Brynhildr. Ragnar accomplished many feats in his life,” Jack paused again and made a silly expression at Gavin, who couldn’t help but chuckle. “And among them, he killed the wretched dragon imprisoning a princess.”</p><p>“Jack, I’m not a child, you don’t need to tell it like that,” Gavin teased lightly. At Jack’s confused expression, Gavin shook his head. “Dragons aren’t real, I know that, you know that, everyone knows that. So he can’t have actually killed a dragon.”</p><p>Jack gave Gavin an amused glance. “As you say, Gavin of Bamburgh, but I have asked Reginnvaldr. His father’s feats are as real as the sun’s rise and set.”</p><p>Gavin furrowed his brows but said nothing more, focusing instead on the reigns in his hands. It would undoubtedly go over poorly if he argued the point. And after all, despite his kindness, Jack was a northman. They were volatile. Unpredictable. Better to keep quiet than provoke the man. </p><p>At his silence, Jack continued.</p><p>“So I met Reginnvaldr Ragnarsson. He’s the son of Ragnar and you can tell in how he walks. How he fights. Óðinn himself could not find a better warrior, a better king. And so I followed him.</p><p>“He took us to Føroyar, to the Norvegr, then father. To the Ænglisc lands, to the Roman lands, to Persian lands… But our home is Jutland, no matter the trading. We return to rest, though less so since we started to overwinter our travels.”</p><p>“Travels. You mean your raids,” the words spilled form Gavin’s lips before he could stop them and he immediately clenched his fists hard around the reigns, much to his mount’s chagrin. He had to actively fight the urge to duck his head. Or perhaps leap from his horse. His tone had not been polite, it had been laced with the bitterness of a man who’d heard the stories of slaughtered holy men and plundered crosses.</p><p>Jack inclined his head, but did not take his eyes from the terrain. Gavin wondered what made a man of such even temperance, of such impressive education, raid villages and monasteries. Kill innocents. Everyone knew of the horrors a heathen could enact. But they seemed leagues away from this gentle, even-tempered man, no matter his impressive size. No matter how hard he tried, Gavin couldn’t fit Jack into the mold he’d constructed for the northerners. </p><p>“So you went off with that Re-Ry-, ah bollocks, that man. You went off with the good fighter man. What made you decide to come here?”</p><p>Jack gave Gavin a funny look at that, as if he didn’t understand the joke Gavin was telling. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“Well, you’re in the Great Hea— er, with this lot now, right? So why’d you leave the fighter alpha?”</p><p>Jack chuckled and shook his head at Gavin. The sound was pleasant, warm and soft sounding and despite his confusion, Gavin was put at ease. He had just started to smile back when Jack spoke again.</p><p> “Gavin, we travel with Reginnvaldr now, back to Jutland! He chose you to come with us, don’t you remember?”</p><p> The brutish alpha, faced caked in black paint. Blood flecked on his clothing, and hand resting on his sword. The one that chose him. </p><p> Gavin felt faint, nausea bubbling ominously in his stomach. The monstrous alpha was also a great king and had the loyalty of his men. Only now did it occur to him there was no way he was ever going to see his home again.</p><p> </p><p>⁂</p><p> Growing up in a castle as the son of an earl had certainly prepared Gavin for grandeur. Castle Bamburgh itself was a massive structure, quite fit for an earl, and with the sea so close, crashing violently upon the cliffs, Gavin was well acquainted with just how small one could feel amidst the elements and structures of stone.</p><p> What he was not used to, was being surrounded by people. Castle Bamburg hosted a great many domestics and a fair number of soldiers from time to time, but seldom did Gavin interact with them. He was always sequestered away, made to attend to his studies or any other distraction his father could think of to keep him out of the way. Out of sight, out of mind and all that.</p><p> The size of the walled town in the distance did not unnerve Gavin. What unnerved him was how the entirety of The Great Heathen Army had stopped and consequently surrounded him with too many bodies and too many smells. Gavin, not wanting to tighten his hold on the temperamental horse, clenched his jaw hard instead to try and suppress his nerves.</p><p> “That little <em>bǿr</em> there is Ribe. Easy to pronounce, sound it out: Rh-ea-b-a,” said Jack. Gavin repeated the word until Jack nodded in approval. At least it was something Gavin could pronounce. The particulars of northern linguistics, riveting as they were, were not an apt distraction from the mass of people surrounding him. And they didn’t seem ready to disperse anytime soon. Gavin leaned as far as he dared in the saddle to quietly speak to Jack.</p><p> “Jack, why’ve we stopped?” </p><p> Before Jack could reply, a horn blared twice, sharp and short, loud enough to be heard over the mass of people gathered. The sound made Gavin shudder, the last time he’d heard such a sound was during the siege on Castle Bamburgh. The shiver had his horse stamping the ground and Gavin jolted. The damned horse couldn’t give him a moment of respite; every movement it made ratcheted Gavin’s anxiety up more, until he was a shaking mess.</p><p> “Ah, Reginnvaldr wants to speak with the council.” Jack said mildly, either oblivious to or ignoring Gavin’s panic. “Since I must stay with you, and Reginnvaldr must speak to me, you will have to accompany me.” Gavin nodded mutely and willed his heart to calm enough for the horse to obey him.</p><p>
  <em> His father employed a good number of men, but The Great Heathen Army employed far more and they were brutal and cruel where the men of God were not. No amount of fervent prayers could stop the steel of the northmen. Quickly, so quickly, did his father’s men fall to the northerners until Gavin watched, wide-eyed, as his father gave the command for retreat. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The sharp blast from the blowing horn sounded just as harsh and hollow as it did when it commanded charge. Like death. It rattled Gavin’s bones and echoed in his skull and sent chills up the spines of men much braver than him. And this horn signaled something worse than their death. Defeat.</em>
</p><p> After a moment, Gavin’s horse obeyed him and trotted dutifully after Jack’s mount. They wove through the ranks of the army, the alphas often looking up to scent the air as they passed. His tinctures and powders had almost assuredly worn off by now, sweat and travel grim rendering them useless. They could smell him. The thought caused the hair at the back of his neck to stand up, and sweat gather on his upper lip. Gavin kept his head down, eyes focused only on Jack’s back.</p><p> When they finally stopped after a few minutes of careful weaving through the army, it was by a banner, not unlike a weather vane, depicting a blocky bird and interlacing ropes of color. </p><p> The other northerners gathered did not so much as glance at Gavin, for which he was immeasurably grateful. He felt queasy and weak in the knees, so many overpowering scents and alphas invading his space. His horse reared its head once, sending Gavin into a panic, trying to calm it. He was aggressively petting the horse’s like Jack had shown him, but to no avail.</p><p> It was unfortunate that the moment his horse finally calmed, the northern brute came into view.</p><p> A hush fell over the men nearby. Positioned behind Jack, Gavin’s view was obscured save for an enormous hulking mass of a beast. A black horse of at least eighteen hands stood menacingly by the banner, its feathered hooves stomping wildly on the ground. A sharp word stopped the beast’s agitation and then it stood eerily still, even the swishing of its tail pausing. It was terrifying. Its rider dismounted, the sound surprisingly quiet, only leather upon the ground and rustling of fabric. How Gavin longed to lean and peer at him, but leaning that far was liable to end with his ass on the ground and his horse into fits yet again.</p><p> “Reginnvaldr,” Jack murmured in greeting.</p><p> Reginnvaldr spoke at a level volume, almost softly, and yet Gavin strained his ears to hear a language he could not speak. Something about the man’s utterances was captivating. Jack was right; Reginnvaldr spoke, and people listened. </p><p> Jack dismounted quickly then, as did the few other warriors in attendance. Gavin looked to Jack with panic. He’d had very little luck with dismounting from this horse by himself at the best of times, generally ending up at least a little tangled if not completely face down in the dirt. With the horse in such an agitated state at the moment, Gavin feared so much as sneezing upon the beast. Jack, bless him, noticed and offered a hand to help the dismount, his other hand holding the horse steady.</p><p> “<em>Stǫðva</em>.” Came the harsh command from Reginnvaldr and judging by Jack’s immediate withdraw of his hand and step away, Gavin could only fear for its purpose. With Jack dismounted and to the side, Gavin had full view of Reginnvaldr, hulking and intimidating.</p><p> He might have been handsome, had he lived another life. A blacksmith or even a knight, if he was anything other than what he was. But he wasn’t anything other than what he was. He was a northman. It was odd, seeing his hardened features in the daylight. The memory of his appearance in Castle Bamburgh’s dim firelight was vague and blurred, but now Gavin was confronted with the face of his captor.</p><p>   Dirty blond hair that fell slightly longer in the front than it did in the back, a short, well-kept beard several shades darker decorating his lower face and neck, piercing, almost mismatched blue eyes standing out amidst some dark cosmetic. The same cloak, which Gavin could now discern as a wolf pelt, shifted as Reginnvaldr moved, and revealed a sword strapped to one side, mirror by a hand-axe on his other.</p><p> Reginnvaldr stopped in front of Gavin, right where Jack had been. He extended his hand, just as Jack had, and looked at Gavin expectantly. “Gavin,” he said, his voice a honeyed rumbling that had Gavin shaking. But it didn’t feel like fear, not like the shakes he’d get atop his roan mount. No, it felt like adrenaline, urging him to run.</p><p> When the moment stretched beyond what was polite, Reginnvaldr frowned said something in the northman’s tongue, keeping his eyes on Gavin all the while.</p><p> “He wants to help you down,” Jack translated. Gavin’s heart raced. He did not want the brute’s help and just as strongly, his mind screamed at him to be polite. There was no telling what would happen if he upset the heathens of the north, and he assuredly did not want to find out.</p><p> Unsteadily, Gavin gave Reginnvaldr his hand and allowed him to steady his dismount. Something twisted in Gavin’s stomach like anxiety and the chieftain's satisfied smile didn’t help. A prideful alpha, helping down his omega. Not unlike the lords offering their arm to their betrothed for a walk in the gardens. But Gavin wasn’t a simpering lady, and Reginnvaldr was the farthest thing from a landed lord.</p><p>   When Gavin was firmly on the ground, the northmen began talking, leaving him completely lost. No one seemed agitated, for which he was thankful. The only thing worse than a mass of alphas, was a mass of agitated alphas. Of agitated northern alphas. His father had a saying about that once, though Gavin scarcely remembered it. </p><p> He was more acquainted with the joking phrase most visiting lords used, that really wasn’t a phrase at all. Only thing worse than an omega was a male omega. His father stopped using that particular one shortly after Gavin turned fifteen.</p><p> Jack’s arm on his own startled Gavin out of his thoughts. “Reginnvaldr wishes you ride with him,” Jack said, nodding his head slightly towards the man and his horse. As if on cue, the eighteen-hand horse snorted and smashed a hoof on the ground, rearing its head.</p><p> “On that massive bloody beast? Not bloody likely!” Gavin cried. The finicky roan mount was one thing, this was something else entirely. The horse would kill him the moment he got near! Gavin felt his face reddening as his scent changed from a dull healthiness to acrid fear. He tried to repress it, like he practiced back at Castle Bamburgh, but exhaustion hindered his best efforts. </p><p> Reginnvaldr strode towards him, sending jolts of adrenaline through Gavin, emphasizing his scent even more, but keeping him frozen in place. The alpha wrapped one arm around him, his other hand on his sword, a low growl in his chest rumbling as he looked for the threat that had caused Gavin such a reaction. He wasn’t the only one. Jack too, had tensed up and moved to stand guard, and a woman with decorated hair had gone as far as to draw her axe. </p><p> Jack was the first to recover from the onslaught of instinct when no threat revealed itself. “There is nothing here, Gavin, but you smell of fear.”</p><p> “I— The horse! It’d sooner stomp my skull in that let me ride it!” As if to prove his point, the beast snorted and tossed its head again.</p><p> “He can smell your fear.” Jack said and a part of Gavin almost laughed at how menacing that sounded. As it was, he was more focused on not bolting. “Calm yourself and the horse will calm.”</p><p> Gavin couldn’t formulate a response, so worked up was he about the thought of riding with the terrifying brute of a man on that terrifying brute of a beast. He was exhausted from traveling, on edge since his father’s peace agreement, sick of only having one person to half-converse with, and painfully frightened of The Great Heathen Army that surrounded him like a swarm of locusts, ushering him to an unknown land far from home. At this moment, calming himself seemed to Gavin like asking for the keys to the Holy Sepulchre.</p><p> Though Jack and the woman relaxed when they determined Gavin’s panic was purely emotional, Reginnvaldr maintained his hyper-vigilance, eyes darting wildly from Gavin to the army surrounding them to the skies. He even growled at the woman when she went to place a calming hand on his shoulder. The sound sent a shiver down Gavin’s spine, though curiously he likened it more to adrenaline than fear. </p><p> He didn’t want to admit it, but despite the emotions rushing through him, and exhaustion tugging relentlessly upon his person, Gavin could feel himself calming with Reginnvaldr’s arm wrapped around him. He could smell his own sour fear diminish, leak away into his ordinarily dull scent.</p><p> It was then, with Gavin’s scent returning to normal, that Jack said something to Reginnvaldr, tone even and almost soothing. Reginnvaldr grunted in reply and retracted his arm from where it had been wrapped around Gavin. He took a step backwards, far enough that Gavin could feel a brisk breeze tickle him at the alpha’s absence. Reginnvaldr rolled his shoulders and seemed to intentionally relax then, eyes no longer darting across the moor for invisible threats. </p><p> Instead, his entire focus shifted to Gavin. At that, Gavin stilled, though it was not panic that filled him. It was <em>awe</em> at those mismatched blue eyes. One eye a bright, unclouded blue, the other dotted with darker spots.  </p><p>Being the sole focus of those eyes was a discomfiting experience. Even when Reginnvaldr had chosen Gavin out of the lineup back at Castle Bamburgh, the attention was softened from the darkness of night and the uncertainty of the situation. As it was now, Gavin’s stomach fluttered, like he was standing on the edge of Castle Bamburg’s ramparts. Without really meaning to, Gavin took a step forward.</p><p> Several things happened at once. That slight step had Reginnvaldr surging forward, pheromones pumping, Jack exclaiming, and the beast of a horse neighing and rearing dangerously. Gavin would have fallen over at the sudden burst of movement and sound from the horse—not to mention how weak-kneed the sudden wave of pheromones made him—but Reginnvaldr caught him. Reginnvaldr spoke in that deep, rumbling voice again, but all words were lost in unfamiliarity save one: “Gavin.”</p><p> “He...worries for you,” came Jack’s slightly strained translation. Gavin turned his head to look at him but was turned back by Reginnvaldr’s hand on his chin. He spoke again, this time in Gavin’s own tongue.</p><p> “Gavin, ride.”</p><p> And so, fear making him shaky and Reginnvaldr steadying him, Gavin mounted the terror beast. To his relief, the beast held perfectly still after a command from Reginnvaldr. That relief held, even as Reginnvaldr easily hoisted a leg over and situated himself directly behind Gavin, taking the reins in one hand and clicking his tongue at the beast. It was still terrifying, still much too large and much too wild of a horse, but with Reginnvaldr there, steering the horse and pressed snugly against Gavin’s back, it seemed easier. Less like panic and more like exhilaration. From this perch, he could see out to the edges of The Great Heathen Army.</p><p> With only a few words more barked at Jack and the group, Reginnvaldr began riding forward. Two sharp blasts from the blowing horn had Gavin jumping again, but a hand on his stomach and a murmur from Reginnvaldr steadied him. He was warm, so much warmer than Gavin had anticipated. His presence at Gavin’s back burned through their clothing, through Gavin’s cloak, and leaked into his very skin.</p><p> “Calm,” Reginnvaldr said and Gavin couldn’t stop himself from obeying. “Safe, <em>fœða-ást</em>”</p><p> “What does that mean?” Gavin whispered.</p><p> Reginnvaldr didn’t reply, not that Gavin expected him to. His capacity for translation was not as advanced as Jack. Before he realized it, Gavin found himself leaning back into Reginnvaldr’s reassuring weight and warmth. His cheeks heated with embarrassment, but when he tried to return to a proper posture, the hand still on his stomach gently pushed him back.</p><p>   It was the most comfortable Gavin had felt since leaving Castle Bamburgh.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Back with another installment, this time post-wisdom teeth surgery, ouch!  </p><p>Another huge thank you to my spectacular betas, <a href="https://deaadcrush.tumblr.com/">Lou</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae"> Noel</a> </p><p>This fic will update every Saturday. I may or may not be susceptible to extra-update bribery in the form of comments.<br/>You can find me on tumblr <a href="https://biowill.tumblr.com/"> here</a></p><p>Another lovely moodboard made by my darling Noel!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 2</p><p>
  
</p><p>  Ribe was warmer than the surrounding area. Not by much, granted, but the great wall surrounding the town cut most of the chilly wind and most every house had smoke erupting from holes in the roofs. It wasn’t warm certainly, and Gavin was still grateful for the warmth of Reginnvaldr at his back, but it was almost comfortable. More like his home than the hellacious frozen wasteland Gavin envisioned when he thought of the savage northerners. </p><p>What wasn’t like Bamburgh were the sights and scents. Everywhere Gavin turned, new smells bombarded his nose, new people and houses and tools filled his vision. No one here concealed their dynamic and now that most of the raiding army had broken away, the smells of travel and battle weren’t as prominent. Flooded  by the scents of everyone in Ribe, Gavin felt overwhelmed.</p><p> In Bamburgh, and really in all of Anglia, omegas were required to cover their scents so as to not entice the alphas around them. Alpha women too, were thought of as more appealing without a scent. Even the alpha men generally wore at least a small amount of perfume or powder to dampen their scent. It wasn’t civilized to be stinking up the place with pheromones and emotions. Ribe obviously had a different approach. </p><p> As they headed further and further into town, more and more of the army broke away until only the core group from the hilltop remained. Jack, the decorated alpha woman, a thin alpha man with short cropped hair, and a beta woman with thin brows and braided black hair followed Reginnvaldr to a central house. It was large--even in comparison to the surrounding city--and circular with twisting logs and planks making up the exterior. Despite being shorter than some of the houses, it was more intimidating. Tiles like lizard scales dripped down the roof and smoke poured from a long slit in the rooftop. The wood was ashy, like it had been bleached by the sunlight and stained by smoke. </p><p>There was a stable to one side where several other horses—workhorses by the looks of them—were kept, a pen with cattle and hens, and a few smaller dwellings dotting the open area around the circular house. Everywhere, there was movement, there was life. </p><p> Gavin twisted in the saddle, trying to see as much of everything as he could, even forgetting the massive mount he rode in his excitement. He swayed dangerously and jolted when the horse snorted. A hand steadying his hip had Gavin freezing. He glanced back at Reginnvaldr and quickly looked away again when the man’s eyes proved to be upon him. As subtely as it had arrived, the hand moved away.</p><p> “<em>Fœða! Fœða-faðir</em>!” Came a yell. Seconds later, a filthy boy with a shock of wild ginger hair sprinted in front of Reginnvaldr’s horse, completely oblivious to the massive beast. Good God, the beast would trample him! Northerner or not, he was nothing but a child and Gavin nearly jumped from the horse to shield the boy.</p><p> Reginnvaldr, however, anticipated this action— or was at least in possession of incredible reflexes—and was able to grab Gavin before he upset the horse, let alone leap from its saddle. Though Gavin struggled for a moment, Reginnvaldr’s quiet utterance of “Safe,” stopped him.</p><p>
 Despite the hammering of Gavin’s heart, the boy was safe. The beast was unperturbed by his presence aside from a huff and moreover didn’t seem overly upset by Gavin’s movements. Gavin sagged against Reginnvaldr, heart still beating hard enough that he didn’t mind the impropriety of leaning against a man he barely knew.</p><p> “<em>Minn sonr!</em>” cried Jack as he dismounted swiftly. The boy crashed into his chest, nuzzling his neck before making a sound of disgust and waving his hand in front of his nose. Jack laughed and pretended to smell himself before making the same sound of disgust, much to the boy’s delight. Reginnvaldr sighed softly from behind Gavin and squeezed Gavin’s hip gently before dismounting himself. </p><p>
 Gavin started struggling off himself, lifting one leg over and preparing for the leap downwards before his plans were derailed and he was hoisted off by Reginnvaldr. He sputtered and felt blood rush to his cheeks as the man bodily lifted him from the horse and set him gently upon the ground. The bastard wasn’t even winded, and had that smug alpha look on his face again.</p><p>
 “I could have done that myself, thanks!” he squawked, blushing even harder. Despite the language difference, Reginnvaldr gave a chuckle and shook his head. He gestured in a grand, sweeping arc to the town around them. “Ribe,” he said proudly.</p><p>
 Though there was plenty to look at, Gavin’s attention kept returning to Jack and his son. They looked so happy together, the boy scenting his father despite the filth and giggling when Jack tickled him. It was odd, Gavin mused, a boy attempting to scent a beta. Jack was a beta… wasn’t he? Gavin couldn’t recall him ever smelling offensive in the way so many alphas did. He must have been a beta. But then why would the boy scent him so?</p><p>
 The idea of the north having male omegas made him queasy. Gavin knew of no place in the civilized world that willingly let their male omegas live past presentation. </p><p>Reginnvaldr spoke again, a fondness to his voice that broke Gavin out of his musing. </p><p>Gavin sighed quietly. “I still can’t understand you, you know,” he said.</p><p>
 “Family,” came the reply with Reginnvaldr pointing back to Jack and the boy.</p><p>
 Gavin turned his attention back to Jack, who stood with his son held on one hip, seemingly searching the crowd for someone. He assumed Jack found the person in question because his face lit up and the boy squealed in delight. “<em>Maðr-faðir! Maðr-fóstri</em>!” </p><p>
 “What’s he saying?” Gavin asked, knowing his companion could not answer. Reginnvaldr placed a hand on Gavin’s shoulder and leaned down to point out a figure in the crowd. “<em>Sinn maðar</em>.”</p><p>
 Gavin wasn’t entirely sure which figure it was Reginnvaldr pointed to and had to blink several times when two men approached Jack. One, of average build and height, eyes sleepy and heavily lidded like the boy and forearms marked with dark ink. Gavin could even see the tendrils of color on parts of his neck when the man moved his head. The other, just a hair shorter with a head of reddish-brown curls and a strong jaw. Both men broke into smiles at the sight of the boy and Jack and hurried to embrace them both.</p><p>
 The family had Gavin’s brow furrowing. He could scent the two unknown men as alphas, even from such a distance away, and the child smelled like the one with tattoos. Gavin cast a glance to Reginnvaldr, but he appeared unperturbed by the display. It was forbidden throughout Northumbria, even Anglia as far as Gavin knew, for two male alphas to consort with one another. And even if Jack was an omega—perish the thought—Gavin was certain that could only make things worse. </p><p>
 “Gavin!” Jack called after the group finished their reunion. “Come, meet my family.”</p><p>
 With a smile and encouraging gesture from Reginnvaldr, Gavin did just that, despite the trepidation that filled him. He gave a respectful, albeit hesitant, nod to the alpha men and jumped when the tattooed one grasped his hand at the upper forearm and held tight. He laughed, a hoarse and contagious sound, before patting Gavin once on the back. “My <em>maðr</em>, Gæirreðr,” Jack introduced.</p><p>
 “I’m not even going to try and pronounce that.” Gavin said with a nervous smile. So he was right. This one at least, was Jack’s mate. Which would mean Jack was a male omega. An impossibility. He masked his surprise and discomfort, focusing instead on the child bouncing happily in his father’s arms. He waved shyly at Gavin. Gavin waved back with a more genuine smile on his face, nerves easier to ignore with children about. </p><p>
 “My son, Einráði.” </p><p>
 The red haired man was next, his face serious and bordering on hostile. It alarmed Gavin. The man did not grasp his hand like Gæirreðr, but nodded. “My <em>maðr</em>, Mǫgr.”</p><p>
 “Right, don’t know how pronunciation will go on those ones either.” He nodded once at each man before turning to Jack, and lowering his voice. “Jack, er, what does <em>maðr</em> mean? It means alpha doesn’t it?”</p><p>
 Jack huffed and smiled in equal parts amusement and exasperation. He spoke slowly, overly enunciating each word. “<em>Maðr</em>, alpha. <em>Fœða</em>, omega. <em>Logn</em>, beta. <em>Ung-menni</em>, child. I told you before.”</p><p>
 “Yes, I know you told me. It’s just that… you called both those men your alpha, er, your ma-th-r, your <em>maðr</em>. And in Northumbria, we only refer to, er, your <em>alpha</em> as your alpha. And, er,” Gavin flushed at his own phrasing, neither particularly diplomatic nor succinct. “Not that, er, that I mind of course. But also… two of them?” Not to mention the delicate nature of Jack’s dynamic, but it would be unspeakably rude to bring up in public. Gavin would ask him later, once he’d racked his brain for a way to broach the topic and not see death as a likely outcome for doing so.</p><p>
 Jack’s confusion lasted approximately two seconds before he erupted into wheezing laughter. He could barely get the words out to explain to the confused men beside him what had him in such a state. And then they were laughing too. Gavin felt his face heat further and he huffed in embarrassment. His face must be the color of ripe tomatoes going by how warm it felt. While laughter was certainly better than a more violent reaction, it wasn’t pleasurable by any means.</p><p>
 When the laughter didn’t cease after a good few moments, restarting every time one of the alphas teased in their tongue, Gavin deiced to take his chances with the brute instead. “Where to?”</p><p>
 Though he didn’t reply, Reginnvaldr must have understood because after shaking his head fondly at the still-cackling men, he led Gavin through the bustling town, past the farmland to the circular structure so large it couldn’t really be considered a house at all. The massive banded doors reminded Gavin of Castle Bamburgh, though this door creaked considerably less, more accustomed to traffic in the thick of a town than the secluded castle. The scent of woodsmoke and fatty meat hit Gavin’s nose before his eyes adjusted to the much darker interior.</p><p>
Gavin passed the threshold, Reginnvaldr a heavy presence at his back, and blinked several times to adapt to the lighting. Most conspicuously was a fire built up on a slightly raised, stone-lined hearth, stretching nearly twenty feet in length right in the middle of the great hall. Little bowls made of mostly clay and iron lined a long bench-table on one side of the hearth; flames dancing from their braided linen wicks cast dynamic shadows on curved plates and mounted drinking horns.</p><p>
 As his eyes became more accustomed to the light, Gavin noticed more details. The great wolf and bear pelts lining the walls. The carvings on a large eastern Roman chair on the far end of the table. The narrowed continuation of the hall beyond what was illuminated. It was warm—despite the hole in the roof for smoke—which Gavin was grateful for. A gentle hand on his lower back pushed him further into the hall which Gavin quickly realized wasn’t circular at all. </p><p>
 Reginnvaldr led Gavin through the hall, coming to a previously unseen doorway but not passing through. Though dimmer and much smaller than the hall, Gavin could make out stone benches lining the walls and a hearth in the center, coals burning low. “<em>Stofa</em>,” came his voice.</p><p>
 “<em>Stofa</em>,” Gavin repeated, the word flowing much easier than he was used to.</p><p>
 Reginnvaldr gestured to the main hall with the hand not touching Gavin. “<em>Eldaskáli</em>”</p><p>
 “Eel..Eel-das-kah-lee?”</p><p>
 Reginnvaldr almost smiled, just a quick upturn of the corners of his mouth, but Gavin could see it. For reasons beyond his comprehension, it made his chest feel warm and his stomach flutter.</p><p>
 “Yes,” Reginnvaldr said and Gavin reveled in the praise for the briefest of moments before shoving the warmth away. He was a political pawn here, he needed to remember that. Warmth was not in the stars for him in the northerner’s land.</p><p>
 The gentle hand led Gavin to the far end of the hall, behind the tables. A narrower hallway with hanging oil lamps in the same style of those on the table was presented to him. Odd closets lined the hall, quite large and—judging by the open ones—contained beds and personal belongings. Gavin would have called them chambers were it not for how cramped and ill-furnished they were. </p><p>
As they walked to the end of the hall, Gavin peered into the open closets, noticing a couple were occupied. He spied a short, sturdy looking man sitting on his bed unlacing his leg ties. A tall gangly man, with much messier hair, appeared from further in the closet room and kissed the shorter man’s head. Gavin blinked in confusion. He couldn’t scent them properly amidst the woodsmoke and smell of cooking meat, but the odds of there being two northern omegas? Miniscule. And if <em>neither</em> of the men were omegas, well… In Northumbria, the church outlined men consorting as grounds for prison if you were lucky and death if you weren’t.</p><p>
 Though, Gavin supposed, if his understanding of Jack’s relationship with the two alphas was correct, it didn’t matter up here. The northmen seemed to have no quarrels with the taboo, just as they had no quarrels with their raids and their heathen gods. </p><p>
 And while Gavin wasn’t inclined to detest this particular oddness, it certainly jostled him, compared to what he had been born into in Christendom. There was little leniency within the church as to which dynamics could mate. After all, with the declining birth rates, the church made it clear at every turn that a childless union was an ungodly one. His own father often lamented his mother’s death. Not for her passing, but for bearing him only three sons before she succumbed to illness. </p><p>
 Gavin was pulled from his thoughts when Reginnvaldr took his hand off Gavin’s back and pulled a key from his belt bag. He deftly unlocked the last door at the very end of the hallway, pulling the door open. “<em>Rekkja</em>,” he said, gesturing to the entire room. He stepped in and pulled Gavin along.</p><p>
 This room was much larger than the ones they passed, more suitably called a room, though still smaller than his own chambers at Castle Bamburgh. A lavish bed on a raised platform took up a great deal of room, and Gavin supposed close to five people could sleep comfortably in it. A pair of chests, quite similar to the chests in Northumbria sat at the edge of the bed, though not nearly level with the height of it. A small, square table sat to one side of the room, holding a wash basin and several candles.</p><p>
 Gavin blinked in surprise at the candles, noting the sweet smell of beeswax and not expecting the wealth. Looking further, he noticed the walls had candleholders built in, the bed-table held candles, and several standing candle holders were placed around the room as well. </p><p>
 Not many people could afford beeswax candles, Gavin thought. Even in Castle Bamburgh, Gavin only saw beeswax candles in his father’s study. Only in church were the sweet-smelling candles burned. Most people burned tallow despite its smell and the mess. Really, Gavin mused, only monks and cloistered clergy could afford to own and use beeswax candles. </p><p>
 With a jolt, Gavin realized where these candles had come from. Everyone had heard about the incident at Lindisfarne Monastery. About the slaughtered monks and stolen gold. It was nearly five years ago and the most devout among them still lived in fear of being next. Of having their gold stolen, their grain stolen, their lives stolen.</p><p>
 Of having their beeswax candles stolen.</p><p>
 Gavin’s scent quickly filled the room, distress and fear pouring out of him like sweat. Reginnvaldr quickly moved to face Gavin, his expression furrowed and concerned. He bent to Gavin’s height and spoke in his own tongue. “<em>Meiða ert þú</em>?” Without waiting for a reply, Reginnvaldr crushed Gavin close to his chest, wrapping his arms around him tightly. “<em>Ert þú heill, minn fœða</em>.”</p><p>
 With some wiggling and a noise of protest that sounded more like a whine, Gavin broke free of the embrace and stomped over to one of the candle holders. He waved to the candle burning. </p><p>
 “You stole this, didn’t you?”</p><p> Reginnvaldr looked a bit confused and he raised an eyebrow at Gavin’s increasingly enthusiastic waving. Gavin huffed in annoyance, racking his brain for any comparable word from Jack’s vocabulary lessons. None came to mind. He switched tactics. “You stole. Raided. Killed.”</p><p>
 At the last word, Reginnvaldr’s eyes widened and he strode to the candle, snuffing it out with a quick pinch. “<em>Heill. Ert þú heill. Ljós nei þik meiða.</em>”</p><p>
 “That’s not what I bloody mean!” Gavin yelled, restraining himself from stomping like a child. He felt conflicted, standing here with the northman. Reginnvaldr, someone so gentle so concerned was the very leader of The Great Heathen Army. It didn’t make sense. Gavin knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Reginnvaldr has killed his countrymen without remorse or pause, and would do so again. He knew that Reginnvaldr was devastating man.</p><p>
 He also knew Reginnvaldr’s scent inexplicably made his knees weak. </p><p>
 Stewing in his conflicting emotions and frustration, Gavin didn’t realize Reginnvaldr had crept closer until the man was nearly on top of him. He jumped when Reginnvaldr spoke.</p><p>
 “Gavin,” he said softly, as if trying not to startle a frightened animal. “<em>Beðr</em>.” He gently took Gavin’s hand and led him to the bed, pulling him to sit down. Gavin nearly panicked again but Reginnvaldr moved back and nodded at Gavin once. He pressed his hands together and pressed them to the side of his face, tilting his head slightly and closing his eyes as if sleeping on a pillow.</p><p>
 When Reginnvaldr opened his eyes again, he dropped his hands and nodded at Gavin once before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. He blinked several times, and then several times more, starting at the door and waiting for Reginnvaldr to return. When he didn’t, Gavin hesitantly moved to recline against the bed. It was plush and softer than he anticipated, likely padded with feathers rather than straw or grass, and Gavin tried hard not to think about who must have owned the bedding before Reginnvaldr. </p><p>
 Without meaning to, he dozed off, more exhausted from the arduous journey from Castle Bamburgh than he cared to admit. Sleeping on rocking boats and in tents on bedrolls was really quite unpleasant and Gavin hadn’t slept well for weeks. And the room was so warm, the bed so soft, the pillow so sweet-smelling, that he couldn’t resist the call of sleep.</p><p><br/>
⁂</p><p> When Gavin next awoke, it was to the feeling of someone stroking his hair. He reluctantly cracked one eye open to find the room dimly lit by a few of the candles. Beeswax candles, he remembered with a bitter taste in his mouth.</p><p>
 “Gavin,” came Reginnvaldr’s voice, soft to match the lighting, and rumbling. He changed from hesitant pets to a scratching Gavin’s scalp and Gavin couldn’t help but let out a noise of contentment at the feeling. Reginnvaldr chuckled and scratched harder to which Gavin lifted his head towards those nimble fingers.</p><p>
 It was then that the strangest thing happened. A tickle arose, not unlike an itch of the throat, but it arose from his chest, vibrating audibly like a hum. At the oddness of the sound and feeling, Gavin lifted his head entirely and sat upright, coughing and rubbing his chest.</p><p>
 Reginnvaldr looked on, expression mild but eyebrows knitted in confusion. “What are you looking at?” Gavin grumbled. The vibrating didn’t stop for his words and with a jolt, Gavin realized he was purring. For the first time in his life, next to a northman in the north. The purring abruptly stopped and Gavin cleared his throat to dispel the discomfort that had settled in his chest at the realization.</p><p>
 Reginnvaldr didn’t reply but smiled at Gavin’s thick, sleepy voice. He returned his hand to Gavin’s head and scratched lightly at the base, just before his neck. The purring resumed. “God I’m a fucking mess,” Gavin whispered, trying to escape the wave of guilt he felt at the pleasure of Reginnvaldr’s touch. “You’re making it hard to hate you, you know,” he said.</p><p>
 The soft smile Reginnvaldr held grew into what looked to be genuine affection. “<em>Minn fœða-ást</em>,” he agreed and dropped his hand to Gavin’s neck, rubbing lightly, tone turning light and teasing. “<em>Ek hugsekr munu taka þú</em>.” </p><p>
 Gavin froze at the contact, heart beating wildly. The hand was a feather-light presence, Reginnvaldr obviously keeping his hand all but suspended on his neck, and yet Gavin was hyper-aware of it. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and Gavin could have sworn there was lightning racing under his skin where Reginnvaldr’s hand brushed. The purring sound grew louder and Gavin’s throat tickled even more.</p><p>
 With a nod and another mumbled phrase that Gavin couldn’t even begin to decipher, Reginnvaldr removed his hand and stood up from where he’d been sitting on the bed. “Food. <em>Eldaskáli</em>,” and with that, Reginnvaldr left the room. </p><p>
 “<em>Eldaskáli</em>,” Gavin said out-loud, remembering the word but not its meaning. “Shit, what was that again?”</p><p>
 “Feast hall,” came the reply. Gavin looked up to see Jack leaning against the door to Reginnvaldr’s (and now, he supposed, his own) room. Jack was clean now, beard still long but now neatly groomed. He wore a simple green tunic, richly embroidered with gold thread on the cuffs and neck. A heavy silver necklace was wrapped closely to his neck, two angular decorations dangling from it, hitting the swell of his throat. His trousers, wrapped with neat, tight strips of cloth, were similar—albeit much cleaner—to his traveling apparel excepting the lack of foot covers. Gavin almost didn’t realize his feet were bereft of their shoes, for Jack’s feet were inexplicably decorated with blue-green designs. Though the closer he looked, the more they resembled the same swirling designs his mate’s arms donned.</p><p>
 “Jack! What are you doing here?”</p><p>
“I am here to help you before the feast,” he said. He entered the room proper then and opened one of the chests. After a brief moment of fabric rustling, he pulled a rich red garment and held it out to Gavin.</p><p>
 “Take this, but do not wear it. You must wash.” With that, he pulled Gavin to standing and led him out of the room. Jack took Gavin back outside of the hall and ushered him around towards a large stone structure. Steam rose from its roof and when Gavin entered, he was hit by a blast of warmth. A large hot spring was the center of the room, with stone benches surrounding it and lining the walls inside the water. The roof was almost entirely covered with wooden slats and most of the light came from burning oil lamps placed strategically around the bathhouse.</p><p>
 “This is the <em>laug</em>, bath,” Jack said. “Wash the stink of travel off and then dress. Come back to the hall when you are finished.” With that, Jack placed Gavin’s new clothing next to a basket on a stone bench near the pool of water. “Here there is soap, tools for hair, and a cloth. Do you need anything?”</p><p>
 “Uh,” Gavin began, not entirely sure how to ask. “How...I mean, why? Am I bathing?” It came out much less confident than he wanted. </p><p>
 “You have been traveling. You do have baths in your land, yes? It is custom here, the <em>laugardagr</em>, washing day, and washing after travel. It is important for everyone, alpha, beta, omega, child, to be clean.”</p><p>
 “Right,” Gavin said, though he was unsure. At least, he thought, it can’t be entirely bad, even if he was bathing in a hot spring instead of an actual tub. Jack, after all, must have cleaned himself in the same way, and he smelled quite pleasant, like honey and cinnamon. If that was what Gavin could expect from the washing, he wasn’t adverse to it at all.</p><p>
 Jack left him to it then. Luckily Gavin was alone in the bathhouse and free to peel away his travel clothes in peace. He grimaced when they stuck to his skin with grime and sweat. They were tossed carelessly into the corner, abandoned for the basket next to his new clothes. A rough stone, a rag cloth, a block of neutral smelling soap, and a larger cloth to dry with were held within. Though the soap smelled neutral, Gavin hoped it would become a more pleasant scent once applied. Like how lovely Jack smelled. He knew his own scent, weak as it was, was unappealing and dangerous to reveal and wanted the soap to help disguise it at least a little. It didn’t matter if male omegas weren’t killed outright in the northern lands. Old habits and all that. </p><p>
 Without any further dallying, Gavin slid into the steaming pool, letting out an involuntary sigh at how divine it felt on his sore muscles. He indulged a few minutes of soaking before grabbing the soap and rag and scrubbing furiously at his dirt-stained skin. After most of the grime was gone, Gavin held the stone in his hand, turning it over curiously before experimentally running it over his arm. A nice scratching feeling accompanied it and the rest of the dirt clinging to his skin melted away, leading Gavin to exfoliate the rest of his body enthusiastically.</p><p>
 Once clean, Gavin leaned back against the pool edge, closing his eyes and listening to the drips of water and distant bleating of sheep somewhere outside the bathhouse. He must have dozed off because he was awoken by the sound of someone joining him in the pool.</p><p>
Reginnvaldr sat across from Gavin, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that he was not alone. Gavin could only gape as he watched Reginnvaldr run a hand through damp sandy hair, naked arms flexing thick cords of muscle with every movement. He stood then, presumably reaching for his own washing basket. It was impossible for Gavin to tear his eyes away from the sight.</p><p>
 “What the bloody hell!” He squawked. </p><p>
 Reginnvaldr jumped dramatically high in the air and Gavin would have laughed at his reaction and how befuddled he looked were it not for his own preoccupation with covering his bare chest and pulling his knees to his chest, even when the man waved hesitantly at Gavin with a concerned smile. He didn’t seem ashamed, he didn’t even look like there was anything out of the ordinary with an unmated alpha being in the vicinity of… of Gavin.</p><p>
 “Gavin…?” Reginnvaldr questioned, a shy kind of amusement in his tone and it was only at the sound of his voice that Gavin remembered himself and tore his gaze away from Reginnvaldr’s body to meet his eyes. Somehow that was even worse. He sputtered at the teasing look in his eyes.</p><p>
 Resisting the urge to bury his burning face in his hands—or to drown himself in the hot spring—Gavin gestured to Reginnvaldr’s body and made a choked sound.</p><p>
 “O’ Good Lord in heaven above, have you no shame? Go away!” Gavin’s voice was high enough that he would have been embarrassed at the pitch were he not so preoccupied. This was breaking every possible rule his father had instilled upon him as a child.</p><p> 
<em> “You’re not to let anyone scent you,” Earl Bamburgh said, voice stern. “You’re not to let anyone near you, and above all, you’re not to let anyone see you undressed. If they can’t tell you’re… well. If they don’t realize something’s wrong with you by the rest of it, your body is a dead giveaway. You’ll be bound and torched before you can beg God for some wretched forgiveness.”</em>
</p><p> 
“Gavin, Gavin,” he cooed, voice soft like it was when he coaxed Gavin into calm upon his horse. He reached a hand out to soothe, but Gavin shook his head and tried looking anywhere but Reginnvaldr. It didn’t matter that there seemed to be other male omegas here, Gavin was supposed to share a <em>marriage bed</em> with their king. He was supposed to lay himself out and accept whatever cruelty was his due. </p><p>
 He’d be drowned or burned just like his father always told him he’d be. He’d be killed.</p><p>
 “God, I can’t do this,” Gavin half-sobbed, nearly working himself up to hysterics. Reginnvaldr’s brow furrowed in two parts concern, one part agitation and visibly flinched when he scented the air. He leapt out of the pool with a surprising show of dexterity and strode to the wooden door of the bathhouse. Swinging the door open without a care for his modesty, Gavin heard him bellow “Jakaupr!” at a truly astonishing volume. Jack, Gavin realized, he was calling for Jack.</p><p>
 Reginnvaldr closed the door again and hovered around the edge of the pool, casting worried looks to Gavin that he tried his best to ignore. More than a few moments of tense silence passed, with Gavin doing the most to look anywhere but Reginnvaldr and Reginnvaldr doing the most to get Gavin to look at him. </p><p>
 “<em>Hverju þetta sætti</em>?” Came Jack’s voice and Gavin didn’t dare look at the door for fear of seeing naked Reginnvaldr again. Of seeing that strong frame and those broad shoulders glisten with water and lantern light.</p><p>
 Reginnvaldr shrugged helplessly at whatever Jack said and the two spoke hurriedly. </p><p>
 “Gavin?” came Jack’s voice, though Gavin kept his gaze firmly fixed to the ceiling, he waved a hand up to show he heard. “What startled you so? Reginnvaldr asks if you want him to leave so you can bathe in privacy.”</p><p>
 “It wasn’t that,” Gavin replied, voice high and panicked. “Well, no, it was partly that. But the main thing was the… the whole!” he made a rough and aborted motion towards his own lower half, obscured in bathwater as it was. He couldn’t believe he was about to say it out loud. Reveal his biggest secret to a northman who matched him. What else could he do though? “Jack, I’m not normal. I’m a…a…” He couldn’t finish and instead tapped his neck, where his scent gland was located.</p><p>
 The silence was awkward, or at least it was for Gavin. He couldn’t outright say the words, but that was as close as he’d ever come to admitting being an omega out loud. Chancing a peek at Jack, Gavin was relieved to find Reginnvaldr’s waist wrapped in a drying cloth. He turned to face Jack, trying his best to ignore the wet and shiny torso in his peripherals.</p><p>
 “I do not understand. What is not normal?” Jack finally said, slowly as if not sure of his speech.</p><p>
 “The whole… Jack, I-I’m an omega.” There it was. Out in the open. For the first time. Gavin felt his face heat even further and mused he must look rather unpleasant with his splotchy blush, but amidst the embarrassment and shame a thrill of excitement shot through him. He would accept his death, had accepted it upon agreeing to accompany the Great Heathen Army, but at least now his greatest sin was in the open. “I’m not natural, Jack. I’m a man but I’m also an omega. That’s not supposed to happen. I can’t have anyone seeing me like this, they’ll know that I’m wrong and…” When Jack still looked lost Gavin buried his face in his hands for a beat before sighing loudly and giving a groan of frustrated pleading. </p><p>
 Shaking, Gavin kept his face down and pointed to his groin. “I’ve got both, Jack.”</p><p>
 Jack looked at him like he had sprouted a second head, like the couldn’t for the life of him understand what had upset Gavin so. “What is the problem?”</p><p>
 “I-I’m an omega and a man,” Gavin whispered, eyes darting down to stare at the steaming water. “I’m a mistake. An unholy punishment.”</p><p>
 “Gavin,” Jack said, voice almost bemused but soft enough to keep Gavin’s attention. “What upsets you so? You are okay.”</p><p>
 “No, I’m not right.”</p><p>
<em> “You must never let anyone know, do you understand?” Earl Bamburgh said sternly. He was never so stern with Gavin’s brothers and Gavin wished he could be what his father wanted.</em></p><p>
<em> “Yes father,” Gavin said. He didn’t understand, the lasting illness had left him fatigued beyond comprehension, but his father was so upset. Gavin just wanted everything to be okay.</em></p><p>
<em> “You must keep this secret,” Earl Bamburgh said. “To slip, to reveal this… this blasphemy, means your death. It means our excommunication. It would ruin us. Do you understand?”</em></p><p>
<em> “Yes father.”</em></p><p>
Jack sighed and spoke briefly with Reginnvaldr, whose nervous energy filled the room with a pervasive scent. “Reginnvaldr,” Jack said, and then told the man something in the northmen’s tongue. It must have persuaded Reginnvaldr to leave because only a few minutes later with a flurry of soap and water, Reginnvaldr was clad in a towel, clothing in arms, with shoes shoved only half-on his feet. “Safe,” was his parting and Gavin inexplicably felt bereft of his company as soon as he left. He didn’t know the man, could barely pronounce his name, and yet something between them felt magnetic.</p><p>
“J-Jack? What’s wrong?”</p><p>
Jack rubbed soothing circles on Gavin’s arm and helped him sit properly back in the bath. “Let me help you with your hair,” he said instead of answering. “Lie back.” Still feeling lost and appreciating the gentle direction, Gavin obeyed. </p><p>
The same neutral soap he washed with was rubbed into his hair and then lathered. It felt lovely to be pampered so by someone he trusted, and Gavin pledged to do the same for Jack some time. Though he probably already had people willing to clean his hair. Like the two alpha men.</p><p>
“You have never met another omega before,” Jack said quietly. It wasn’t a question.</p><p>
“No.”</p><p>
It was silent then, save for the sound of soap squeaking in Gavin’s hair and the spring water trickling. Jack’s honeyed cinnamon scent and gentle hands calmed Gavin to the point where his head lulled lazily with every motion of Jack’s hands. A soft purr bubbled up from his throat and Gavin couldn’t find it in himself to contain it.</p><p>
Those hands cupped water over Gavin’s hair, taking care to massage his head indulgently. The pleasure was worth the uncomfortable situation, the uncomfortable conversation. “There are many omega in Ribe,” Jack said, tone too light to be natural. “And many of them men, just like me,” a pause. “Just like you.” </p><p>
Gavin sighed, feeling emotion swell in his throat and tighten in his chest. “I never thought that’d be possible. Thought they got rid of them—of us—everywhere.” Self-respecting Anglians did not produce male omegas. They’d long since been considered bred out. Or left to the elements if a rare one <em>did</em> manage to present. Plentiful were the stories of little feral omega boys, left to die in the wilds. Half out of their mind with heat, running naked through the forest only to be hunted down by bears or run through by wild boars. “Thought they killed us everywhere.”</p><p>
“Not here,” Jack said. He finished rinsing Gavin’s hair, shielding his eyes from the suds and running his free hand luxuriously through Gavin’s hair all the while. “Omegas are precious creatures. We give life. It is no matter if we are woman or man.”</p><p>
He chewed on that for a moment, considering. That he might fear for his life more in Northumbria than here, surrounded by heathens, was a distasteful idea. But for all their savagery and brutality, the northmen didn’t have an issue with his dynamic. If anything, going by Jack’s two men and the fondness in their eyes, the northmen found male omegas <em>desirable</em>.</p><p>
“Jack, those alphas...they really are <em>your</em> alphas aren’t they? Because you’re an omega?”</p><p>
“Yes. Gæirreðr, father to my son Einráði. Mǫgr, my alpha and alpha to Gæirreðr, who is his alpha.” The thought was an interesting one. Gavin had heard his fair share of stories of course. The wealthy sultans from distant lands, the Frankish kings and Roman lords. Men who boasted harems of beautiful omega women, one for each day of the week. Never, however, had he heard of a <em>mateship</em> with three people. “Is it hard? Having two alphas, I mean.”</p><p>
“Yes, and it is perfect all the same,” Jack’s eyes twinkled with mischief then. “Especially during heat.” </p><p>
Gavin softly giggled at that despite his confused emotions. “They both get you during heat, is that it?”</p><p>
Jack’s low satisfied laugh gave all the answer Gavin needed, but he spoke anyways. “They both have me during heat, and often each other. You have had <em>hiti</em>—heat—before, yes?”</p><p>
Gavin paused, the memories scratchy and vague in places, painfully sharp in others. “Once when I was young, I had this awful sickness that lasted nearly a week. The clergyman my father brought in thought I was going to die I ran so hot. Felt like I was dying. And then it was just over. Nothing else happened, it just ended.” Gavin recalled the event with more clarity than he would have liked and less than was useful. The fever, so consuming made him feel like he was on fire even though it was winter and he laid on the cold stone of his chambers. The clergyman—a friar or a priest, Gavin couldn’t remember—proclaimed his humors were out of alignment from lack of godly devotion. An excess of blood and yellow bile, he had said, cause for bloodletting and purging to rebalance his constitution.</p><p>
The leeching had been a blur. Gavin had already been in so much pain that a few leeches weren’t much of a bother. The herbs they gave him to purge were another matter entirely; they had him vomiting the moment they touched his tongue, so unstable was his stomach from that illness. It had been hell. And shortly after, his father gave him a stern talking to before withdrawing entirely. </p><p>
“You were presenting,” Jack said gently, breaking Gavin away from that time. Though his hair was clear of soap, Jack continued to comb through the wet strands. “How did your father stop your scent? Your heats?”</p><p>
Truth be told, it wasn’t difficult to conceal his alignment in scent; Northumbria and Mercia were strict with their scent customs. Everyone wore at least a bit of perfume or powder to conceal their scents, the practice even popular with betas who were generally inoffensive in smell. It wasn’t unordinary that Gavin wore perfume, it was even in vogue for wealthier betas to use the precious commodities, a flashy display of wealth. No one would have been able to tell he was an omega. The heats were much harder to conceal.</p><p>
When unmated omega women were in heat, Gavin remembered, they were cloistered away. Sent to nunneries or remote cottages. That had never happened to him. What had happened, however, was his monthly medicine. Gavin always complained about the foul tasting herbs that no amount of honey could make palatable. He hated taking it, and yet he knew the alternative was worse. </p><p>
“He gave me herbs. They always made me sick and I had to take them all the time.” He didn’t elaborate. Why hadn’t his father told him there were other male omegas in other parts of the world? Had he even known? Why hadn’t he <em>helped</em> him? </p><p>
In a way, Gavin supposed, he had. The church had always taught omegas were female; with all the sin attached to such a thing. If his own ungodly omega status was known, how quickly would he be put to death, how quickly would his father and siblings lose their holdings, how quickly would the king cast out Earl Bamburgh? It would have been a death sentence for them all, had he been revealed.</p><p>
  <em> “You must keep this secret,” Earl Bamburgh said. “To slip, to reveal this… this blasphemy, means your death. It means our excommunication. Do you understand?”</em>
</p><p>
Gavin couldn’t forgive his father, he couldn’t, but he could appreciate the burden he must have carried. Being perhaps the only other person who knew of Gavin’s misfortune; Atlas, supporting his family under the crushing weight of Gavin’s secret. Rearing a third son to ensure an heir no matter what only to find him grown and incapable of siring heirs himself, only to find him an impossibility. Gavin wanted to hate his father but he pitied his silent decision, his fear. What would it mean for Gavin now, no longer the sole male omega, the sole abomination, but one among others, among many?</p><p>
“Come, Gavin,” Jack said, leading Gavin from the bath and wrapping a towel around him. He busied himself with cleaning the wash buckets—Reginnvaldr’s still turned over from his hasty departure—and collecting Gavin’s clothing. When Jack glanced over to see Gavin mostly dried he gestured to Gavin’s clean tunic with his chin. “Dress. Feasting will be soon and it would be best for you not to be naked.”</p><p>
 Though he didn’t have quite enough energy to laugh, Gavin huffed his amusement and let his mouth raise in a weak smile. The tunic was softer than it looked, a warm, well combed red wool, a looser fit than Gavin was used to, but flattering all the same. A thinner pair of linen trousers dyed a deep brown were next, much more closely fit than what Jack wore, but then Gavin didn’t have those strange northmen leg wraps in his clothing bundle and supposed that was partially the cause. </p><p>
 “Almost there, you still need more,” Jack said. He wrinkled his nose at Gavin’s muddy traveling boots but let him equip the shoes before dragging Gavin from the bathhouse back to the hall. The air outside was bitingly chilly after the warmth of the bath and Gavin shivered from it. While the warm baths were a luxury he was unused to, the horrid contrast to the cold outside made the journey a penance for his enjoyment.</p><p>
 The hall was mercifully warm and despite the walk’s brevity, Gavin was grateful to be back inside. The great hall was bustling with activity, people darted to and fro, carrying platters of food between the long hearth and that side room, calling out to one another, clanging pots and bowls. Gavin was glad for Jack’s lead because he was certain he’d have toppled at least five people on the walk back to the chambers were it not for his spry lead.</p><p>
 At the door to Reginnvaldr’s room, Jack knocked thrice before a muted reply bid them entry. Jack paid no mind to Reginnvaldr sitting on the bed fastening a brooch to a coat half on his shoulders. Gavin tried to keep aloof, looking at Jack rifling through a bed-chest and avoiding Reginnvaldr’s gaze at all cost. He was mostly successful until Reginnvaldr spoke, making Gavin nearly jump.</p><p>
 “Ask him yourself, Reginnvaldr. Do not be rude,” was Jack’s reply and Gavin whipped his head around to squint at Reginnvaldr who, to his placation, did look embarrassed. </p><p>
 Bloody good, Gavin thought, it’s about time he feels something other than smug.</p><p>
 Jack finally dug whatever great bundle of trinkets from the chest he needed and placed them all out on the bed. “Here Gavin, let me help you until you learn it yourself.” Gavin nodded and watched with fascination as Jack layered a short dark apron with rich embroidery on top of the tunic, fastening it with two brooches at his collarbone. A weighty belt was next and Jack tightened it around Gavin’s waist, before looping it once to secure it. Carvings in the stiff leather caught Gavin’s attention and he traced a finger over the deep designs almost reverently. Upside down, he couldn’t make much sense of the scene, but could appreciate the obvious craftsmanship put into the piece nonetheless.</p><p>
 Two golden bracers were fastened to Gavin’s forearms, the fit very tight and Gavin tried not to grimace as his circulation was somewhat restricted. Lastly, Jack took a string of beads and fastened each end to the apron brooches. It dangled there, bits of amber and colored glass adding an array of lovely colors to the darkness behind it. The northmen’s clothing was odd to be sure, but not at all lacking in loveliness.</p><p>
 Jack took a long look at Gavin with a keenly discerning eye but seemed to find no fault in his dress save one: “Take those ugly things off,” he said, wrinkling his nose playfully and pointing at Gavin’s traveling boots.</p><p>
 Gavin looked at the offending shoes. “Won’t my feet get cold?” Jack shook his head but smiled, allowing Gavin to steady himself upon his shoulder. “The hearth will keep you warm. It is your right as omega.” That sent a jolt of nervousness through Gavin, but he clenched his teeth and removed the boots. His <em>right</em>. As though being an omega was a <em>privilege</em>. </p><p>
 Finally up to whatever standard the northmen held, Jack smiled at Gavin and led him back out the chambers. Though he didn’t look back, Gavin could feel Reginnvaldr’s eyes burning into his back and he shivered from the knowledge. </p><p>
 The hall was still busy but less chaotic, with many of the previously bustling people now seated at one of the two massive tables. Jack brought Gavin to a beautifully carved stool to the right of the decorated eastern Roman chair. Closer now, Gavin could see a male figure clad in simple tunic battling a great serpent carved into the Roman chair’s back. Intricate knotwork framed the scene, with two ravens decorating the upper corners. It was a beautiful piece, fit for a king.</p><p>
 It was then Gavin remembered he would be sitting next to Reginnvaldr for the night. After the uncomfortable bath debacle. Lovely.</p><p>
 In Gavin’s defense, his father had ensured he would feel the maximum amount of anxiety regarding his body. If someone found out that he was an omega, it would be the end of their lives. Regardless if male omegas existed, the church taught of only omegean women. The lasting impact of a life lived in terror of discovery was not to mend overnight. And especially not so soon in a foreign land.</p><p>
 With a resigned sigh, Gavin settled himself in the carved stool, grateful for the slight back it had but wishing it was higher. Sitting up straight was a challenge Gavin did not anticipate enjoying as the evening dragged on. Jack settled in next to Gavin on his left and Gavin blinked in surprise. Even with Jack being the best translator available, Gavin didn’t think he would be allowed to sit so close to the northmen’s leader. What kind of omega was allowed to sit essentially at the right hand of the king? His <em>right</em>, his <em>privilege</em>. </p><p>
 Gavin had just opened his mouth to ask Jack about his seat when a hush fell over the hall, almost eerily quiet. All eyes were trained to the bedchambers hall and Gavin followed the gazes and respectfully bowed heads to see Reginnvaldr, looking incredibly regal in the flickering candlelight. The feast was about to begin.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please pardon my Old Norse conjugations. I've been studying for a few months and binging Dr. Jackson Crawford's videos, but it's highly likely a few mistakes are present. If you are at all fluent in the early Old Norse language, firstly please allow me to geek out with you, and secondly, I would be honored if you submitted corrections.</p><p>I intentionally did not leave translations because you're meant to be in Gavin's shoes for this fic. There will be fewer and fewer italicized Old Norse phrases as time goes on and Gavin learns the language. Nonetheless, if it bugs the hell out of you, please leave a comment, and I will reply with translations!</p><p>A couple of fun notes:</p><p>Fœða is an Old Norse verb meaning 'to feed' or 'to rear (a child)', I've used it here to mean omega.<br/>Maðr is the Old Norse noun for 'man/husband/human-being' which I've used to mean alpha.<br/>Logn is the Old Norse noun for 'calm' here used for beta.<br/>Ung-menni is the Old Norse word for 'youth' (ie, unpresented) but is Icelandic specific, not Danish! With Jack being from Iceland, however, it's not out of the realm of possibility that he would use it.</p><p>When I say 'Roman' or 'eastern Roman' in this chapter, I don't mean Classical Rome, but instead am referring to the Byzantine empire! The Byzantines, of course, did not call themselves 'byzantine' (which is a very modern title meaning exceedingly complicated, or complicated to unnecessary excess) but Romans. Constantinople, the holy capital of this empire, was home to a notorious band of Viking mercs, known as Varangians, which explains why Reginnvaldr has a Byzantine-styled chair. Let's ignore the fact that the Varangians didn't come about until the 10th century, about a hundred years after this fic takes place ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>An early chapter as a thank you to Dillbugg for their very sweet comments, Þakka fyrir! ♥<br/>I can't believe it's taken me this long, but I highly recommend listening to Danheim's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2snGxzABIWo">Fimbul Radio</a>, filled with (fictionalized) Viking age music, while reading.<br/>Always a thousand thank yous to <a href="https://deaadcrush.tumblr.com/">Lou</a><br/>and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a><br/>The hand-feeding in this chapter (and this fic as a whole) takes a lot of inspiration from Savaial's fic <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286974/chapters/12204098">Tor-Valen.</a> Thanks for writing cool stuff that inspired me Savaial!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Three</p><p>
  
</p><p>Reginnvaldr looked very handsome, if Gavin cared to examine him closely, which he did not. In fact, after the bathhouse, Gavin was entirely prepared to not notice Reginnvaldr at all for the rest of his natural life.</p><p>This of course meant that Gavin did not notice how the russet of Reginnvaldr’s tunic brought out the strands of orange-gold in his hair or how his mismatched bright blue eyes, now free of paint, reflected candlelight so brightly they appeared to glow. He didn’t notice that Reginnvaldr’s strong shoulders were clearly outlined in an open coat that hung beautifully to his knees, that his belt wrapped snugly around his narrow hips and highlighted the strong cut of his body. How a thick, braided chain of gold swung loosely from his neck and showed off the ropes of muscle in his neck.</p><p>Gavin especially did not notice how quickly his heart beat when Reginnvaldr took his seat next to him.</p><p>“<em>Feta bruð-laup!</em>” Reginnvaldr boomed and a great cheer rose in response. Stringed instruments began a deep, coarse tune and a skin drum beat quickly to accompany the music. Gavin supposed it was beautiful in the way all the northmen customs were beautiful: in a very harsh, very real way. A rawness not often seen in the courts of Anglia. “The feast is beginning,” Jack whispered to Gavin.</p><p>A lovely alpha woman with decorated hair who Gavin vaguely recognized from the journey over approached their side of the table with a deep bowl of amber liquid. She was quite beautiful, all even creamy skin and intricate plaits of dark red hair. She smiled at Gavin and then turned to Reginnvaldr with a more mischievous look in her eyes. “<em>Havt's með þér</em>?” She asked in a high voice, glancing pointedly at Gavin.</p><p>Reginnvaldr smiled at her with genuine affection, a softening to his eyes and a natural ease to his smile. Gavin tried not to feel jealous. She may have smelled like an alpha, but alpha men with alpha women were not uncommon unions. “<em>Þat es gott, systir.</em>” She rolled her eyes at Reginnvaldr and extended the bowl to pour its contents into the jeweled drinking horn in front of Reginnvaldr.</p><p>She then surprised all present by overextending and pouring the bowl into the horn in front of Gavin instead. Jack’s loud belly laugh and Reginnvaldr’s surprised look had Gavin looking around in confusion, hoping someone would take pity on him and explain the action. The woman giggled and moved around Reginnvaldr to squeeze Gavin’s shoulder.</p><p>“<em>Ek em </em>Mjǫll, Gavin. <em>Havt's með þér</em>?”</p><p>“This is Mjǫll, <em>sister</em> of Reginnvaldr.” Jack said. “She says hello.” Gavin nodded and gave the woman a little wave, not missing Jack’s emphasis on the word ‘sister.’</p><p>“Er, it’s nice to meet you. What’s with the whole, uh, cup thing?” Gavin asked. Without translating, Jack smirked and answered the question. “It means she sees you as the most important person in the hall, not her brother.” Without allowing Gavin to reply, Jack translated his greeting to Mjǫll who bowed her head and left them.</p><p>Reginnvaldr huffed a laugh and shook his head good naturally at the retreating form of his sister. His sister. Gavin very pointedly did not notice the relief from jealousy that flowed through him at the realization just as he didn’t notice how handsome Reginnvaldr looked when he laughed.</p><p>After the drink was served, people laden with trays of food maneuvered through the crowded hall, placing the overflowing trays along the long tables. Carvings off some sort of animal were piled high alongside cheeses and raspberries on a particular tray placed directly in front of Reginnvaldr and, by extension, Gavin.</p><p>Mjǫll returned shortly after with another bowl of drink and poured it without ceremony into Reginnvaldr’s horn, affectionately bumping his head with her own. Horn finally filled, he took a deep draught from the drink and sighed in contentment at its flavor. Gavin eyed his own drinking horn with more reservation.</p><p>“<em>Mjöðr</em>, a type of honey drink,” Jack provided. “The milk of Óðinn.”</p><p>“It’s milk?” Gavin asked, wrinkling his nose. The clear amber liquid didn’t look like any milk Gavin was comfortable ingesting but at Jack’s expectant look, he pushed aside his doubt and took a small sip from the horn.</p><p>A delicious, crisp sweetness exploded on his tongue. Honey and apples with the slight bitterness of alcohol. It was amazing and wasn’t long before he was drinking just as enthusiastically as Reginnvaldr.</p><p>“There is an old story about how we came to know <em>mjöðr</em>, ask Reginnvaldr to tell you it one day,” Jack said.</p><p>“That’ll be hard if we can’t even speak the other’s language,” Gavin replied, reaching for the serving fork to dole himself some of the heavenly smelling meat. Thick drops of fat rolled down the skin and Gavin’s mouth watered.</p><p>“You will learn just as he will learn. And none can tell of <em>mjöðr</em> quite like Reginnvaldr. His forefather is the very reason we have it.” That seemed to be all Jack was willing to divulge as his attention was taken by his alphas’ arrival. The heavily tattooed one sat beside him and the angry one beside the first. If Gavin had any recollection of their names, he would have greeted them but as it was, he resorted to waving awkwardly.</p><p>“Gavin,” came Reginnvaldr’s gravelly voice. “Gæirreðr,” he pointed to the tattooed alpha and then to the angry one. “Mǫgr.” Though Gavin was still reluctant to look at Reginnvaldr, he nodded his understanding and thanks at the direction.</p><p>“Er, hi uh G--Gaeer...eth...er?” Gæirreðr looked at Gavin with bemusement before realizing Gavin was trying to say his name and howling in laughter. Gavin’s ears turned red and he looked resolutely down at his half-filled plate. Why do I even try, he thought, I’ve been laughed at more times than I can count and it hasn’t even been a day!</p><p>“Gavin, Gæirreðr does not mean to offend,” came Jack’s soothing voice. “He came from the Gaels tribes and had to learn the tongue just like you are learning it now.” He said something to Gæirreðr in a stern tone and the man immediately sobered, looking contrite.</p><p>“Sorry,” he said and Gavin blinked in surprise at the proper pronunciation of his own language.</p><p>“He does not know much more of the Ænglisc tongue,” Jack said apologetically, but Gavin was amazed he knew any at all. Even at only one word, Gæirreðr knew more Ænglisc than Gavin did the Gaels’ tongue.</p><p>“‘S fine. Don’t think I’ll be getting his name any closer though, so I should be the one apologizing.”</p><p>Jack eyed Gavin with a thoughtful look before turning to Gæirreðr and asking him a question. The tattooed man shrugged with a blithe response and though he tried to maintain his aloof appearance, Gavin could see how Gæirreðr smiled at Jack’s beaming. Whatever he said had certainly made Jack happy.</p><p>“Gæirreðr says you can choose a name for him as you did for me,” Jack explained. “And he will begin to learn your tongue; he has a natural talent for it, even more than I do. A keen tongue blessed by Óðinn.” There was pride in his voice and Gavin felt a stab of longing for the depth of love he could hear.</p><p>“Oh, that’s very kind of him. I’m not sure I know any names close to er, Gaeer...Whatever.” Gavin racked his brain for any names with a ‘G’ beginning. Wait, there was a traveling lord that one time from Mercia, what was his name again…</p><p>“Geoff!” Gavin exclaimed. “That’s it, like Geoffrey. How does Geoff sound?”</p><p>“Geoff?” Gæirreðr repeated. “Yes.”</p><p>“Perfect! Then we have Jack and Geoff and I’m Gavin and that’s three bloody things on this continent I can pronounce.” Jack laughed at Gavin’s rambling and Geoff smiled, seemingly on instinct, at seeing his mate happy. The other alpha Jack was mated to, Mǫgr, still sat stoically a few seats away, uninterested in the conversation and more concerned with picking at his food.</p><p>It was nice, Gavin thought, having two friendly faces. Well, he supposed Reginnvaldr counted, but Gavin didn’t want to look too closely at just how friendly Reginnvaldr was and definitely didn’t want to think about how friendly they were expected to be in a marriage. Luckily for him, Geoff and Jack kept him distracted and amused with tales of their antics, Jack keeping up a nearly seamless stream of translation and commentary. He wasn’t lying about Geoff being a quick study either, by an hour’s time, Geoff had picked up phrases and new bits of vocabulary and had a stronger grasp of Ænglisc than Gavin did of the northmen’s tongue.</p><p>“Gavin,” Geoff said, reaching over Jack to poke Gavin as annoyingly as possible on the cheek. “Mate Reginnvaldr?” He spoke again in the northmen’s tongue and Jack groaned at whatever it was he asked.</p><p>“He is teasing you about mating Reginnvaldr, he suspects you will smell odd.”</p><p>“Do scents usually change when people mate?” Gavin asked, curious. He couldn’t remember smelling anyone’s natural scent before and after mating, clogged with powder and perfume as they usually were in Northumbria. And being more concerned with hiding his status, his father had never bothered to mention the particulars of alpha and omega dynamics.</p><p>“They do,” Jack affirmed. “Scent carefully,” he held out his wrist to Gavin, a display that would have been obscene in Northumbria, but seemed only polite and ordinary here. A hesitant sniff revealed something sweet, like cinnamon and honey, something floral and soft. Much stronger than the scant waves of scent he could pick up just sitting near Jack.</p><p>“Now Geoff,” Jack said and Gavin smiled at his use of the Ænglisc name for his own mate. Geoff gave a lazy smile and extended his own wrist to Gavin, almost bopping him in the nose, a move which Gavin suspected was on purpose. Another sniff revealed a woodsy scent, moss after a rain and—</p><p>“Cinnamon!” Gavin said. “You do smell alike. Does your other mate smell like you as well?”</p><p>“He does but I do not think he would allow you to scent him yet,” Jack said, glancing at the man in question who was conversing quietly with another alpha nearby. Gavin had no qualms about not scenting the vaguely hostile alpha, and just hummed politely.</p><p>One of the deeper drums banged out seven beats in a particular pattern and the hall’s noise quickly diminished, everyone stopping their conversations. Gavin turned to Jack for explanation, but his attention was entirely to Gavin’s left.</p><p>On Reginnvaldr.</p><p>He was standing, and was even more impressive than his already staggering height from Gavin’s view on the stool. He exuded confidence and ease, in his element around his people and Gavin felt like a moth fluttering ever closer to the intoxicating glimmer of a flame. In all his haste to disregard Reginnvaldr, Gavin had forgotten how hard it was to ignore him.</p><p>He spoke in that rumbling tone, softer than Gavin would have expected and louder than he had before. His words were unknown and so instead Gavin focused on his voice and how it slipped in his ears and traveled down his spine, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Oh how Gavin longed to be wrapped up in that voice, for it to envelop him in its rumble, in its hearty promise.</p><p><em>Mate</em>. That voice said. <em>Mate</em>.</p><p>Gavin stiffened at the startling path his thoughts wandered to and gripped the edge of his seat so hard his fingers ached. That was not a place he could go, should even <em>want</em> to go. He and Reginnvaldr had to fulfill a peace agreement and that was all. Gavin didn’t even expect Reginnvaldr to keep only him in their bed. It just wasn’t done with these kinds of things. No use in thinking about things that couldn’t be. That he didn’t <em>want</em> to be, Gavin reminded himself.</p><p>So preoccupied with his thoughts was Gavin that when Jack nudged him, he had no idea the significance. Jack looked faintly amused and jerked his head towards Reginnvaldr. “You need to go around and kneel.” Gavin gave Jack a bewildered look and just barely prevented himself from squawking at the suggestion if only for how quiet the room was.</p><p>“Gavin,” Jack said, a touch of insistence in his voice. “Go around to Reginnvaldr’s other side and kneel. It is part of your bonding.”</p><p>Gavin began to hiss out his refusal but Jack gave him a shove and to avoid falling, Gavin leapt from the chair. With all eyes on him, he reluctantly passed behind Reginnvaldr to stand before him, before the entire hall. Gavin felt shaky and his palms began to sweat uncomfortably at the attention.</p><p>“Gavin,” Jack whispered nervously and his voice sounded much too loud among the silence. “You must kneel. You must.”</p><p>Eyes fixed firmly on the wooden floorboards, Gavin sank down, knees hitting the wood with a dull thud. His hands were shaking hard now and he couldn’t make them stop, couldn't figure out why. It might have been anger of course from his helplessness, and nervousness from being the focus of dozens of people, but there was a part—a small part, but a part nonetheless—that felt excited, anticipatory.</p><p>“Gavin?” Came Reginnvaldr’s voice, leagues softer than Gavin expected, and closer too. “Gavin, want this?” Gavin chanced a peek at the man. Shining eyes were so close to him; Reginnvaldr was bent over to Gavin, partially concealing him from view. “Gavin,” he said again. “You want this?”</p><p>He’s asking me permission, Gavin realized, feeling dizzy at the sudden realization, the raiding, heathen chief of the northmen is asking me permission to do this. A hysterical giggle tried its best to bubble up but he cleared his throat to dispel it. He had a choice to make here and it was harder than he thought it’d be.</p><p>To refuse, what would become of him? A trip back to Castle Bamburgh and a father shamed by his cowardly, oath breaking son? The peace treaty would be invalid and the threat of overwintering northmen would be present. Would, perhaps, be even more dire. To accept… Gavin couldn’t even begin to ponder the possibilities.</p><p>“Yes,” Gavin heard himself say, not quite a whisper but too unsure to be a declaration. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Yes, I want this.”</p><p>Gavin turned his eyes back downwards so he wouldn’t have to see Reginnvaldr’s reaction. “Gavin…” A hand, rough with callouses and years of work cupped Gavin’s cheek. A thumb gently brushed the thin skin beneath Gavin’s eye and he shuddered at the feeling. The hand pulled back and he had to restrain himself from whining.</p><p>The shuffling of fabric and gasps from the audience Gavin had forgotten was watching caused his head to snap up. Reginnvaldr was settling down, kneeling, right in front of Gavin. On his level, like an equal. Gavin’s mouth opened in shock and he could feel his eyes grow dry by how widely they were open. Whispers filled the hall and Gavin took that to mean this was not, in fact, a normal display of northern bonding ceremony. A glance towards Jack saw him wide eyed but oddly pleased at the display. Geoff looked halfway near bursting into laughter and even their other alpha, the stoic one, had a smirk on his face that might have been considered a smile were he anyone else.</p><p>Reginnvaldr spoke then, replacing his hand on Gavin’s face and grabbing one of Gavin’s hands with the other. Jack’s translation came moments later, sounding a bit awed and proud, though the cause of the pride, Gavin couldn’t place. “I swear to provide for you, protect you, and serve you.” Jack cleared his throat. “Now, you say the same Gavin.”</p><p>“I p-- I promise to provide for you, protect you, and serve you.” Gavin glanced over at Reginnvaldr to gauge his reaction to the Ænglisc language vows in place of his own northern tongue. In Gavin’s defense, he imagined it would take ages to get the words right in the other language.</p><p>Reginnvaldr didn’t seem to mind and his expression remained soft and open. He spoke again and this time Gavin recognized two words. <em>Fœða</em> and <em>maðr</em>. Omega and alpha.</p><p>“I will be your alpha, and you my omega, and we will mate for you are my <em>ǫnd auðit</em>.” Came the translation. Jack paused as Reginnvaldr said something more and then continued. “By the might of the Æsir, by my forefather Oðinn, king of the gods, and by all those who serve our family, I bind myself to you, your alpha to do with as you wish.”</p><p>Gavin furrowed his brows briefly, looking to Jack. “Do with as I wish?”</p><p>Jack shrugged. “It is your right as omega.” He gestured back to Reginnvaldr who’s eager expression had Gavin biting his lip and looking up through his eyelashes in shyness only to be greeted by the darkening of Reginnvaldr’s eyes and the tongue that darted to lick his teeth. He gasped softly and the hand cupping his face tightened ever so slightly.</p><p>“Gavin, now you give your vow.”</p><p>“What am I supposed to say?” He asked Jack, not taking his eyes off Reginnvaldr, not willing to break whatever strange magnetism locked them together. He heard the smile in Jack’s voice at his reply. “You say what you feel, and what you mean, and what you promise.”</p><p>In that moment, Gavin wasn’t sure what he thought or meant or could possibly promise to a powerful warlord. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to think or mean or promise. But those blue eyes that held him steady inspired the smallest something.</p><p>“I… will have you as my alpha. And be--and be your omega and your mate as a thanks for sparing my family and my father’s people. I cannot promise you everything, but I do promise to try.” Giving a little nod at the end of his vow and feeling much less confident than he liked, Gavin felt himself leaning into Reginnvaldr’s hand. Jack’s translation came and though it felt much longer than whatever Gavin himself said, he decided not to dwell on it. Jack likely had a better idea of what was an appropriate vow and Gavin didn’t mind him smoothing any blunders over.</p><p>At the end of his translation, Jack spoke to Gavin. “Now Reginnvaldr will present you with your <em>gullmen</em>, it shows you are his.” The hand cupping Gavin’s face retreated and Reginnvaldr reached into his shirt and withdrew a second gold chain; heavily braided like the one he wore outside his tunic but much closer to his neck, only dangling to his collarbone. He removed the necklace and held it up, hovering just over Gavin’s head.</p><p>“Gavin,” he said. “Want this?” Reginnvaldr’s hands held steady, waiting for Gain’s answer. Gavin had never met someone—and especially never an alpha—like him before.</p><p>Gavin’s throat was too dry to reply and stuck when he tried to swallow. And so, looking Reginnvaldr straight in the eye, he gave a strong, decisive nod. The chain lowered and Gavin shivered where Reginnvaldr’s hands brushed his neck and chased them as they left, leaning closer to Reginnvaldr. The heavy chain dipped down to Gavin’s sternum, longer on his lithe form than on Reginnvaldr’s muscle, its weight an undeniable presence. It was warm with body heat and smooth, almost soft, despite being braided metal. Some sort of trinket hung at the end of the necklace, tickling his skin, and though Gavin was curious as to its shape, he was reluctant to move and pull it out to see.</p><p>Reginnvaldr stood then, hand extending as he moved so it could continue touching Gavin. He addressed the hall as a whole and at the end of whatever he said, cheers rang out, clay mugs slammed on tables in celebration; the racket so great that Gavin could feel his teeth rattle. He was hauled to his feet then, Reginnvaldr’s hand sliding down to hold Gavin’s hand. The slight squeeze was a welcome tether to ground Gavin from the noise--so sudden after such a period of silence.</p><p>“You are now wed,” Jack said, coming up and clapping Gavin on the back. “Congratulations!” He sounded genuinely happy and Gavin gave him a dazed, only half-feigned smile. Geoff and Jack’s other alpha, Mǫgr, came next and Geoff nudged Gavin affectionately while Mǫgr stared elsewhere with arms crossed, seemingly uninterested in the proceedings.</p><p>“Gavin, you <em>mate</em> Reginnvaldr,” Geoff said, wiggling his eyebrows and adopting a suggestive tone of voice. He cackled at Gavin’s blush and poked him in the side.</p><p>“Ow! Bloody prick.” Gavin frowned rubbed the spot that stung but also kind of tickled and gave Geoff a shove in retaliation. He shot back, gasping dramatically as if Gavin had twelve times the muscle he did and had pushed him full might. Gavin started to laugh until Mǫgr rushed forward and got very, very close to him, growling lowly.</p><p>Cringing down and trying to make himself smaller than he was, Gavin let out a whine. He’d already fucked up. Not a full day into his life in the north, and already he’d made himself open to punishment. At the apologetic whine, Reginnvaldr’s head shot up from where he had been conversing genially with Jack and a growl of his own rang out.</p><p>“<em>Stǫðva</em>! Mǫgr, <em>stǫðva</em>!” Came Geoff’s cry. He leapt in front of the other alpha waving his hands around, speaking in a placating tone. At the same time, Reginnvaldr stepped in front of Gavin, one hand keeping Gavin behind him and eyes fixed on Mǫgr. The growling was deafening this close and Gavin’s heart felt like it was going to burst. Jack rested a hand on Mǫgr’s heart, taking Geoff’s hand and placing it on top. He spoke softly to his mate and slowly but surely Mǫgr’s growls faded. Reginnvaldr’s, however, did not. The hall was dead silent, all eyes on the scene unfolding between the alphas.</p><p>“Reginnvaldr,” Jack said, and despite the growling, it seemed Reginnvaldr was listening to whatever Jack continued to say because he began to settle; growls dulling until only a faint sound could be heard. It was only when Reginnvaldr began to withdraw his arm from holding Gavin behind him did Gavin realize he was clutching his arm like his life depended on it.</p><p>“Uh, sorry,” he whispered, embarrassed, but too shaken to care much about it. Reginnvaldr didn’t reply, only continued to stare Mǫgr down. Mǫgr, for his part, averted his eyes and bowed his head in a show of deference.</p><p>“Mǫgr cannot understand your tongue,” Jack said softly to Gavin, though he was still turned towards his mates. “He did not realize you were teasing and only saw you push Gæirreðr—Geoff— and he thought you meant to harm.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Gavin said, voice small. It was awful to be the cause of such an uncomfortable situation and not know what words were spoken.</p><p>Geoff spoke to Mǫgr briefly and then turned his head towards Gavin. “Okay, Gavin. Okay, Good.” Gavin peered around Reginnvaldr’s form to more easily see the triad and Mǫgr nodded his assent, though his head was still bowed to Reginnvaldr.</p><p>Mǫgr said something to Reginnvaldr in a tone that was soft with a voice that was rough. Reginnvaldr’s growls grew in volume again and—if possible—Mǫgr cringed even harder, bowing his head even more so that the milky white skin of the back of his neck could be seen. Jack looked worried but made no move to pacify Reginnvaldr and Geoff was busy bowing his head in a similar manner to Mǫgr. Oh how Gavin longed to know what he said, what would cause such an offended reaction.</p><p>And while he didn’t want to make anything worse and still wasn’t sure as to the customs and expectations of omegas here--and fuck if that didn’t make his head reel, having to consider how omegas act--Gavin was still hungry and it didn’t look like this standoff was going to end any time soon…</p><p>“Re...uh, Rey-een-valder?” He tried. Judging by the stiffening of Reginnvaldr’s shoulders, he got it at least recognizably right. He stepped in front of him and placed a hand over his heart in a fashion similar to how Jack had settled Mǫgr. Judging by the heavy shudder that ran through Reginnvaldr’s body, Gavin was certainly provoking a strong reaction. Whether that reaction proved a good thing or a bad thing was not clear.</p><p>“Gavin,” Jack said, very quietly. “Keep talking to Reginnvaldr while I take Mǫgr away.”</p><p>“What do I say?” Gavin hissed in protest, keeping his eyes on Reginnvaldr, but tilting his head back towards Jack. “I can’t speak your language!”</p><p>Jack didn’t reply but must have started moving Mǫgr because Reignnvaldr’s eyes instantly darted from Gavin to somewhere behind them and the growling grew louder. Dammit Jack.</p><p>“Rey-een-valdr?” He tried again, but it proved to be unsuccessful in redirecting the man’s attention. Gavin pressed his hand harder on Reginnvaldr’s chest while he furiously tried to wrap his tongue around the word floating through his mind.</p><p>“<em>Maðr</em>.” The word, though perhaps not said with the best pronunciation, proved effective and Reginnvaldr’s eyes were instantly fixed upon Gavin, who had not planned beyond this. In lieu of anything else to say, Gavin repeated the word. Alpha.</p><p>A hand snaked up his hips and pulled him closer to Reginnvaldr. Gavin bit his lip and resisted the urge to avert his eyes, hoping that the closeness would further distract Reginnvaldr to the quickly retreating forms of Jack, Geoff, and Mǫgr. Reginnvaldr’s growl was replaced with a deep rumble, the sound affecting Gavin more than he would care to admit. His legs felt like jelly.</p><p>Reginnvaldr’s hand was so heavy on Gavin’s hip. This close, Gavin could feel his hot breath ghosting his face, the scent of the honey drink mingling nicely with the sweet woodsmoke. His scent, Gavin realized, that’s his scent: a bonfire made of the sweetest smelling wood. His heart beat louder, so loud that he imagined Reginnvaldr could feel it, could hear it.</p><p>“Reginnvaldr?” Came a clear high voice. Gavin turned his head to the sound, ignoring the disgruntled noise from Reginnvaldr and saw his sister—Mjǫll was it?— looking two parts amused one part awkward. She waved at Gavin and said something in her own tongue. Reginnvaldr groaned in reply and buried his head in Gavin’s hair.</p><p>“Gavin,” he whined quietly, so quietly that Gavin was sure he was the only one who could her him. “Not want.”</p><p>Though he wasn’t quite sure what Reginnvaldr was referring to, Gavin laughed at the petulant, childish tone and took a decisive step backwards, away from Reginnvaldr’s warmth and the comfort of his embrace. Once a fair few feet had been put in front of them, a rush of embarrassment engulfed Gavin. What had he been thinking, what had come over him? He felt his cheeks go red when he remembered the filled hall and was hyperaware of the stares that bore into him.</p><p>Mjǫll smiled at Gavin and walked over to stand beside him. Her eyes twinkled in mirth but her smile was genuine and Gavin felt slightly better having the confident alpha with the shining hair beside him. She bumped her hip into his and shook her head at his sound of protest.</p><p>Reginnvaldr addressed the hall then, voice booming out and somehow sounding both sheepish and confident at the same time. Laughter filled the hall at whatever he said and with a clap of his hands, the music, the talking, and the revelry resumed almost seamlessly. Mjǫll gave a bubbly laugh and shoved Reginnvaldr bodily, saying something as she did so and gesturing towards Gavin.</p><p>With a nod and smile, Reginnvaldr took Gavin’s hand and led him back to the Roman chair and carved stool. Once Gavin had been sat down, Reginnvaldr reached for the plate of meat and cheeses and dragged it closer to him and Gavin. He sat down and lifted a thick piece of meat with a fork and held it out to Gavin.</p><p>“I’ve already got some on my own plate here, see?” Gavin said, pointing to his plate where there indeed was still a piece of uneaten meat lying sadly and likely cold. Reginnvaldr shook his head.</p><p>“No Gavin, me,” he said, holding the fork closer to Gavin. Without Jack to translate, Gavin wasn’t sure how to proceed. Refusing had the potential to upset Reginnvaldr and Gavin wasn’t sure how safe that was despite how fluttery the man made him feel. With no other option, Gavin frowned and opened his mouth.</p><p>Though expecting the fork laden with too much meat to enter his mouth, Gavin was instead offered a much smaller piece of meat pulled from the fork with Reginnvaldr’s fingers. Gavin jerked back before the fingers could get any closer to his mouth and frowned directly at Reginnvaldr who thankfully only looked confused and not reproving.</p><p>“Gavin?” He asked. “Food?”</p><p>“Yes food, but not from your fingers! I’m not an animal you know, you can’t just feed me from your hand like some sort of bloody pet!” Though he kept his voice low so as to avoid yet another spectacle, he made no attempt to quell the indigence from his tone, forgetting his earlier fear of an all but unknown alpha’s potential reaction to his refusal.</p><p>Reginnvaldr frowned at that and stared at the meat in his fingers intently before looking back to Gavin and maintaining eye contact while bringing the meat to his own mouth. He chewed a few times before swallowing and gesturing to the food tray.</p><p>“Safe, Gavin,” he said and Gavin groaned.</p><p>“That’s not what I was worried about you weirdo!” Gavin ran a hand over his face and leaned in to it, face squished and eyes on Reginnvaldr. He looked even more confused now and it was almost cute.</p><p>“Gavin?” He asked, tearing off another piece and holding it out, waving it slightly like he was tempting a stubborn dog.</p><p>“God you’re just not going to leave it alone are you?” He groaned and keeping his eyes firmly down so he wouldn’t have to see Reginnvaldr’s reaction, Gavin lifted his head and leaned forward to take the meat between his teeth, very careful not to touch Reginnvaldr’s fingers at all.</p><p>Salt and the richness of fat exploded on his tongue and Gavin let out a satisfied hum. The meat was a type of pork, rich and cooked to perfection, leaving Gavin licking his lips for more of the taste. He was so wrapped up in the food, that he didn’t even protest when Reginnvaldr held up another bite with his fingers.</p><p>All too soon the piece of meat was gone and Gavin tried not to feel disappointed at its loss. It must have shown on his face though because Reginnvaldr laughed and held a raspberry up next. Though the potential for embarrassment was still present, Gavin ignored it in favor of eating; his stomach was still rumbling and he wanted more. There was something holding him back from reaching for the plate himself, something primal and raw that enjoyed Reginnvaldr feeding him. Something he didn’t want to examine too closely.</p><p>Despite not ingesting any more alcohol, the meal quickly had Gavin’s head fuzzy. He felt like a well-kept cat, fat and lazy. He slouched lower and lower in his stool, and without a back to lean on, he ended up swaying. An omegean purr sounded and Gavin’s first instinct was to look for the source of it before he remembered he was the omega making the sound. And fuck if that wasn’t something he’d need to get used to.</p><p>A returning purr, much deeper than his own, sounded from Reginnvaldr whose eyes were soft with fondness looking at Gavin. “Gavin,” he said. “Good?”</p><p>Sleepy, full, and head buzzing from both the honey drink and the strange worship from being hand-fed had Gavin nodding without much thought. “‘M tired though,” he replied and to prove his point, he let his head lull and fall on his hand, eyes fluttering shut when it did.</p><p>Reginnvaldr’s purr continued as he chuckled, making for a rather silly sound and Gavin smiled at it. He didn’t even have it in him to squawk indignantly when Reginnvaldr lifted him from the chair and carried him—actually carried him—from the table back down the hallway. Whistles and catcalls followed them as they left but Gavin, head still buzzing, ignored them easily.</p><p>It was only when Reginnvaldr nudged his room open with a foot, Gavin still in his arms, that Gavin remembered what he was expected to do as the new omegean bride. The fuzzy feeling quickly retreated and his purr stopped. When Reginnvaldr set him on the bed, Gavin pulled his knees to his chest and looked on in trepidation as Reginnvaldr pulled the jacket from his shoulders, then the chain from his neck, then the shoes from his feet. It continued until Reginnvaldr was bare save his trousers.</p><p>Gavin took a shuddering breath and worried his lip, not looking at Reginnvaldr and trying to stop his hands from shaking where they clutched his knees. Finding the man handsome, sharing a meal with him, even marrying him, those were all doable, all understandable. Bedding him…</p><p>Was something else entirely.</p><p>He stilled immediately when Reginnvaldr reached over him, only for Gavin to tilt his head in confusion when Reginnvaldr merely grabbed a pillow and one of the furs on the bed. He nodded to Gavin with a smile and a quiet “<em>Sof þú vel</em>, Gavin.”</p><p>He then strode to every candle in the room save for the ones by Gavin’s side on the bed-table, and pinched them out. The room steadily darkened until Gavin could only just see Reginnvaldr settle onto one of the pelt rugs decorating the floor and pull the bed fur over him.</p><p>Gavin sat there in the flickering light of three small beeswax candles. Reginnvaldr was an enigma. A man with more beeswax candles than a monastery who smiled when he saw a small child reunite with their omega. A terrifying brute of a man who could made another alpha bear his neck with naught but a growl who asked for permission twice before wedding Gavin. A dangerous heathen who decided to sleep on the floor to save Gavin the anxiety over their wedding night.</p><p><em>Who are you</em>, Gavin wondered as he blew the candles out. The darkness of the room gave him comfort as he stripped out of his clothes, leaving the trousers on. He folded the tunic and apron as best he could and placed them on the floor. His feet were dirty from the hall, but Gavin didn’t want to stumble over Reginnvaldr in the dark to reach the washing pitcher to clean them, so he resigned himself to dirtying the sheets and dealing with them in the morning.</p><p>His last thought before sleep claimed him was of how nice the bed smelled. Like sweet wood and bonfires.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter had a lot of fun historical notes in it, but I'll restrain myself to expressing two:</p><p>1) The "gullmen" (lit. Gold-collar) Gavin receives is extra special. Gold was very rare in Viking age Scandinavia (and medieval Europe as a whole). After the wealthy gold mines of the Roman empire dried up/were lost, most wealth came from silver coins. The Vikings, seen in many a burial tomb, generally used Islamic silver <em> dirhams </em> instead, as they traded and interacted quite a bit with Islamdom! Gold in Christian medieval Europe was generally reserved for special religious items or royal trinkets.</p><p>2) Mjǫll (Meg) pours the mead-cyser for Reginnvaldr. But why? Surely a highly ranking warrior woman wouldn't fuss about with serving drinks! As seen in <em>Beowulf,</em> the highest ranking woman would serve drink to the lord of the hall (either the visiting lord or the actual lord, depending on the law of hospitality) first. The cupbearing position was a revered position as it denoted absolute trust. So in reality, Meg serving the mead is a sign of her high rank!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I would be bereft without <a href="https://deaadcrush.tumblr.com/">Lou</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a>, the most wonderful (omega and alpha) betas a writer could ask for!<br/>Danheim's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2snGxzABIWo">Fimbul Radio</a> to set the mood.<br/>And here I am on <a href="https://biowill.tumblr.com"> tumblr</a>, always down to answer questions and nerd out about medieval manuscripts.<br/>This chapter is more of a filler to better establish Gavin's role. You'll get more plot substance next week ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Four</p><p>When Gavin awoke it was to a chilly and empty room. The furs on the ground pointed to Reginnvaldr’s absence and the dim light shining through the gaps in the door pointed to it being a new morning. Gavin stretched and immediately squawked at how cold the room was outside of the furs. It took several minutes and a truly astonishing amount of willpower for Gavin to emerge from the bed.</p><p>He winced when his toes hit the pelt decorating the floor. Despite its soft texture the coldness made it awfully uncomfortable. Gavin walked around to the end chests and opened the same one Jack did the previous night, rummaging through its contents for something simpler to wear than the ornate tunic and apron outfit.</p><p>With a victorious “ah hah!” Gavin procured a linen under-tunic from the chest and immediately put it on to help combat the chill. More digging led to a simple wool tunic dyed a soft green, obviously new and quite well crafted.</p><p>The necklace, or collar, Gavin assumed, gave him stop. He carefully lifted it out from under the green tunic. The gold glimmered even in the hazy lighting, and the trinket he felt the night before revealed itself to be a little serpent, coiled and dangerous. The craftsmanship was impeccable, but leaving the collar out felt obscene. He tucked it back under his tunic.</p><p>The belt he wore on top of everything, and lastly Gavin found his wool stockings and riding boots that he arrived in. They were caked in mud and the stockings could use a good wash, but it was cold and Gavin wasn’t going to go outside barefoot, no matter what Jack insisted for the feast. After all, Gavin mused, Jack had worn shoes during their trip to Ribe. He couldn’t be expected to go barefoot all the time.</p><p>Neatly dressed and stomach rumbling enough to have him exiting the bedroom, Gavin emerged from the bed chamber and followed the narrow hallway into the great hall. Already, the room was bustling with activity and Gavin squinted at the hazy light flooding the hall from the opened doors. It was only just after sunrise and already it seemed that everyone was awake and going about their business.</p><p>Gavin looked around for one of the three faces he knew relatively well, but was disappointed. He walked more firmly into the great hall and scanned the long tables for food. Alas, they were bereft. Not his best start to a morning.</p><p>“Gavin!” called a clear, high voice. Gavin turned and saw a slender alpha woman. Reginnvaldr’s sister, Gavin remembered, but what was her name?</p><p>“Hi, uh.. M-ee-ol?” He waved and smiled sheepishly at how botched the pronunciation sounded to even his own ears.</p><p>She smiled and gave an encouraging nod. “Mjǫll. Me-ya-oll.” Mjǫll elongated the word, which Gavin found tremendously useful. She took Gavin’s hand and led him to the side room off the main hall.</p><p>“<em>Stofa</em>,” she said and the word sparked something in Gavin’s memory.</p><p>“That’s the one,” he murmured taking the room in. It was warm and the size had the small room feeling cozy and intimate. An omega woman in a sturdy work dress and apron smiled at Gavin as he entered. Her hands were busy chunking meat for one of the pots of stew on the hearth. Mjǫll kissed the woman’s head and giggled when she huffed shook her head back in playful annoyance.</p><p>“Gavin,” Mjǫll introduced, “Hlaðgerðr.”</p><p>“Uh..” Gavin said, eloquently. “H-al-ath— uh yeah. Don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon. How about Lindsay? That’s a nice name right?” he pointed to himself, saying his own name, and then to the omega woman. “Lindsay?”</p><p>She giggled at his question but nodded. “Lindsay,” she said, holding her hand out to Gavin and gripping his wrist firmly before pumping once. Lindsay patted the stone bench beside her and Gavin took the hint to sit down. She leaned over and procured a water-filled bowl and cleaned her own hands in it, wiping them on her apron, before holding the bowl out for Gavin to do the same.</p><p>He rinsed his hands quickly and was about to dry them on his tunic when Lindsay gasped and smacked his hands away. She ignored his sounds of protest and said something in a tone that left Gavin with no doubt that he was an idiot. Lindsay put the meat and carving knife onto a wooden tray and took Gavin’s dripping hands in her own, running her apron over them until satisfactorily dry. She looked at her apron and then at Gavin’s lack of apron pointedly and waved her hand to the door, saying something in a tone half amused, half chastising before returning to chunking meat.</p><p>With a groan, Gavin stood from the stone bench and walked back to Reginnvaldr’s chambers. Or, he supposed, his <em>and</em> Reginnvaldr’s chambers. Their chambers. Terrible thought.</p><p>Another rummage through the bed-chests had Gavin pulling a sturdy looking brown apron, obviously new in construction from the stiffness of its wool. He pilled it on, finding it fit well, but slipped without the ornate brooches Jack pinned on him. Even knowing so little about their significance, Gavin shuddered to think of marring the brooches’ craftsmanship with everyday use. He supposed there was no helping it, and fastened one on each side of the apron just as Jack had done.</p><p>When he returned to the <em>stofa</em>, Lindsay shot him a smile and nod before having him rewash his hands. She placed a wooden tray on his lap and—through a thorough use of miming—instructed him to cube a pile of large yellow onions. The two worked in relative silence for a few minutes before Lindsay began giving Gavin verbal orders. She pointed to the already cubed onions and then the large boiling cauldron. One word in particular stuck out.</p><p>“<em>Leggja á ketill</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Ketill</em>! That’s just like kettle ‘innit?” Gavin exclaimed, feeling more excited than perhaps was logical. “<em>Leggja á ketill.</em> That’s like put it in the kettle, er, pot.”</p><p>Lindsay beamed at his pronunciation and nodded encouragingly even not knowing what else Gavin said. The chopped onions slipped into the bubbling pot with a splash and the scent of meat and onions filled the kitchen room. Lindsay dumped the rest of the chunked meat and stood. She strode to the sides of the kitchen where various dried herbs dangled from twine and pinched off bits from several gatherings. Gavin could recognize one of the herbs as coriander and another as marjoram but the rest mystified him.</p><p>Lindsay continued to direct Gavin into chopping, stripping, and chunking various vegetables and meats leftover from the previous evening’s feast for the next hour. He was just finishing slicing a parsnip for one of the cauldrons when Jack entered the kitchen.</p><p>“Jack!” Gavin greeted. “Look, look at all we’ve made. And guess what?”</p><p>“Hello Gavin,” Jack said, smiling at his exuberance. “What is it?”</p><p>“<em>Leggja á ketill,</em>” Gavin said, working his tongue expertly around the words after having repeated them to Lindsay several times throughout the day. “That means ‘put it in the kettle’ right? Or cauldron, I guess, but same difference, right?”</p><p>Jack beamed at Gavin and clapped him on the back. “Excellent, Gavin! You will be speaking just as well as anyone here.” He peered over into the bubbling cauldrons. “It smells good. We call this <em>dagmál</em>. The first meal.”</p><p>“<em>Dagmál,</em>” Gavin repeated, finding the word easy enough to form. “How do I ask if it’s time to eat <em>dagmál</em>?”</p><p>“<em>Kominn um langan veg dagmál,</em>” replied Jack and Gavin sputtered at the complexity.</p><p>“All that for asking ‘when’s breakfast’?” He squawked and Jack laughed at his indignation. He said it again slower, and Gavin repeated it until it was at least passable. After a beat Jack changed the subject. “Let me show you Ribe, you’ll need to be familiar with every inch of the town.”</p><p>Jack nodded to Lindsay once and gave her what Gavin recognized as a goodbye and then led Gavin out the kitchen and out of the main hall doors to the hazy light outside. Gavin had to blink several times at its dull brightness and felt the urge to squint though he knew it wouldn’t help much. Once his eyes had adjusted enough to bear looking around, Gavin was surprised at how busy the land outside the longhouse was. Everywhere he looked people were doing chores. A group of people were weaving or sewing on stools just outside in the shade of the house. A strong looking alpha woman pulled a sled filled with carrots and celery stalks through tilled land a few dozen paces from the house, passing several other people weeding and planting. Gavin spotted Geoff feeding a massive pen of chickens a fair distance from the field, his bright tattoos visible even so far away.</p><p>Jack took him around the entire plot of land. Being in the middle of Ribe, Gavin assumed the longhouse was a type of castle; untouchable, with its food and necessities coming in from nearby land. That everyone seemed to work together to provide for the hold was shocking. Gavin couldn’t remember <em>ever</em> seeing someone work a farm, let alone so close to him.</p><p>“...and this is the <em>laug</em>,” Bath, Gavin remembered, listening intently to Jack. “But you recognize it. Do not worry, Reginnvaldr is not in there today.”</p><p>“Jack!” Gavin cried. “Don’t be horrible, I’m trying to forget that day and was doing quite well until you brought it up!” Gavin gave an exaggerated shudder as Jack led him past the bathhouse and further away from the longhouse.</p><p>“What part are you trying to forget? Reginnvaldr nude?” Jack teased and Gavin looked staunchly forward despite his reddening face. “He will be disappointed to hear you do not like to think of him nude. Should I tell him?”</p><p>They had arrived to what reminded Gavin of Castle Bamburgh’s fighting courtyard, albeit more exposed to the elements. A wide, circular patch of dirt, encircled by a short wooden fence lay before them. More interesting than the particulars of the training ring, however, were the people within it.</p><p>Gavin saw several people all in various states of dress, all swinging massive weapons at one another. Mǫgr, one of the ring’s occupants, was clad in only trousers and leg wraps, even his feet bare to the elements and shouldered an impressive sword that glimmered almost blue in the hazy light. He could also spot Mjǫll clad in a masculine tunic drilling some sort of block, rounded shield held high in the air, arms barely straining as a beta man hammered blow after blow on its surface with a hand axe.</p><p>Quickly moving on from the others sparring, Gavin’s eyes were drawn to Reginnvaldr, though he hadn’t meant to seek him out. He was standing slightly hunched over, breathing heavily with a battleaxe held sideways, loosely grasped. He, like Mǫgr, was not wearing a tunic and Gavin could see a sheen of sweat covering his back. Three opponents taunted Reginnvaldr, laughing, one beating his shield with a hand axe. One of the opponents, a short omegean man who Gavin vaguely recognized made a false lunge at Reginnvaldr but Reginnvaldr didn’t so much as flinch. Gavin made a sound of appreciation at the display of sheer confidence.</p><p>“Enjoying yourself?” Jack asked, elbowing Gavin in the side. “Perhaps Reginnvaldr will not be disappointed after all.” The words sent Gavin flushing in embarrassment. “Enjoying watching Reginnvaldr sweat and dance around?” Jack poked at his sides, eliciting squawks and protests from Gavin. All the same, Gavin couldn’t tear his eyes away from Reginnvaldr, even with Jack’s attempts at distraction.</p><p>Reginnvaldr’s head shot to the side at Gavin’s rather distracting noises and their gazes met. Gavin half-heartedly bat Jack’s hands away, still transfixed on Reginnvaldr and not willing to draw enough attention away from Reginnvaldr to actually stop Jack. That same electricity Gavin was becoming intimately familiar with was back, crackling between him and Reginnvaldr despite the distance.</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Gavin saw the short man lunge at Reginnvaldr again, clear intent in it this time and Gavin’s eyes shifted to watch him, widening in surprise and even a bit of fear. A whine made its way out his throat, a worried, distressed little sound that he couldn’t force back down. He knew it was a training ring, he knew Reginnvaldr was safe. And yet, despite knowing, and despite reminding himself that he wasn’t attracted to Reginnvaldr, a deep-seated omegean instinct bubbled up and demanded the alpha be safe.</p><p>He needn’t have worried. Reginnvaldr moved like a viper and easily parried the man’s lunge with barely a flick of his wrist. The man stumbled and with a growl, Reginnvaldr kicked the man square in the chest, so that he fell down, air knocked out of him. The other two opponents laughed and helped their friend to his feet, the three of them patting Reginnvaldr on the back before walking away.</p><p>Reginnvaldr strode purposefully to Gavin and Jack, and Gavin did his best to quell his sudden desire to bolt. Everything felt much more real in the daylight than it did at the feast and in Reginnvaldr’s chambers. He didn’t want to acknowledge the undercurrent of… something between them. He didn’t want to think about how he couldn’t draw his gaze away from Reginnvaldr, couldn’t help but become enthralled in his scent, his presence.</p><p>“Gavin,” Reginnvaldr said, coming to the edge of the fence and leaning on it. “<em>Góðan morgin</em>.” He glanced at Jack who gave him an encouraging nod. Reginnvaldr refocused on Gavin and continued. “Gavin, uh, good…? Morning. Good morning.”</p><p>The pronunciation left a little to be desired but the words were understandable. Gavin gaped at the man before remembering himself and closing his mouth to a shy smile. “Good morning Reginnvaldr. Uh...” He silently formed the words he’d heard Reginnvaldr say before attempting out loud. “Goh-than...Morgin? <em>Góðan morgin</em>?”</p><p>Reginnvaldr’s surprised laugh pushed a more confident smile onto Gavin’s face and he only just resisted the urge to pump his fist in triumph at his proper pronunciation.</p><p>The warriors in the training yard gave jeers and catcalls at the sight of Reginnvaldr and Gavin interacting. Jack laughed loudly and yelled something to the men and Gavin recognized Mǫgr’s name.</p><p>“Jakaupr,” Greeted the approaching Mǫgr. His stoic face softened the slightest amount at seeing his mate. Nearly imperceptible, but Gavin was looking closely enough to see. He and Jack exchanged words, it ending with Mǫgr pressing a gentle kiss to Jack’s forehead before heading back to the other warriors.</p><p>“Mǫgr says I should show you the rest of the lands so he is not distracted by me like Reginnvaldr was by you,” Jack said, voice laced with amusement.</p><p>Gavin snorted. He didn’t think the surly warrior capable of jokes. “Let’s go.”</p><p>Jack smiled and spoke to Reginnvaldr in their native tongue. At his reply, he turned to Gavin. “Reginnvaldr would like to accompany us.”</p><p>Though his worry-prone mind longed to overthink the question, Gavin acquiesced with a nod. He supposed he should get used to Reginnvaldr’s presence, despite how uncomfortable it made him. He would have to get over it eventually seeing as they were bonded now and would eventually be expected to share a marriage bed. Gavin glanced over at Reginnvaldr, now in the courtyard and stretching and flexing his considerable muscles while re-robing. Gavin shivered at the sight of his strong body glistening with exertion, even as it was hidden away once again. He didn’t <em>want</em> to share a bed with anyone. But in another life… he might have chosen Reginnvaldr.</p><p>Reginnvaldr, back in tunic and with his sword strapped to his belt, kept a brisker pace than Jack. He led them past the fighting courtyard and to the smithy with its billowing smoke and constant clanging, to the steers grazing on repurposed fallow, to another plot of farmland with green all but shrouding the dirt from sight. Jack kept up a description of each place and the duties of those who worked, pausing in his monologue every so often to translate some quip or another from Reginnvaldr.</p><p>“You will oversee most of these, Gavin,” Jack said.</p><p>The words sent thrills of apprehension like pinpricks down his spine and Gavin chewed on his lip anxiously. “I don’t know how to do anything like that Jack, let alone bloody run it.” He’d been trained to be in the church, not running farms!</p><p>Jack looked thoughtful at that and spoke to Reginnvaldr before turning back to Gavin. “Reginnvaldr will show you how. His omega mother insisted he learn the duties of the hearth just as he learned the duties of battle.”</p><p>Gavin’s eyes flickered to Reginnvaldr briefly before darting back to Jack, too unsettled by the piercing blue to look any longer. “He’s a busy bloke. You sure?”</p><p>Though Reginnvaldr didn’t understand him, he must have inferred what Gavin asked from his tone and nodded eagerly. “Yes Gavin.”</p><p>“It’s settled then,” Jack said, smiling just a touch too fondly to be considered smug, though the way his eyes shone betrayed his satisfaction. They began to return to the training ring and Gavin almost wished the walk had been longer. “Reginnvaldr must work with his warriors today, but he will dedicate time to your learning.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Gavin said, accompanying the words with several seconds of uninterrupted eye contact with Reginnvaldr. He realized the importance of the gesture and gave a bow in response, eyes never leaving Gavin’s. “And thank you Jack,” Gavin tacked on, breaking eye contact at last. “You’ve been so helpful to me and I can’t even begin to think about how to repay you.”</p><p>Jack smiled. “You are welcome. As for thanks,” he lowered his voice and waggled his eyebrows. “Convince Reginnvaldr to allow Mǫgr a few hours leave early from training and there will be nothing left to pay.”</p><p>Gavin snickered and nodded. “Reginnvaldr?” He asked. He lost his train of thought at how eagerly the man jumped to attention and how intense his stare was. It was odd, to think that a heathen, alpha chieftain reacted so strongly to just his name when spoken from Gavin’s lips. Remembering himself before he got caught up in another staring contest with Reginnvaldr proved to be a challenge, but one Gavin overcame nonetheless. “Uhh… Mǫgr. Let him go home to Jack, yeah?” To reiterate his point, Gavin pointed towards the training ring and then to Jack.</p><p>Jack filled in the rest of Gavin’s request and Reginnvaldr laughed before nodding his head and calling Mǫgr over, presumably directing him to take his leave. Jack gave a wave to Gavin as the two left, Mǫgr’s hand possessively resting on the small of Jack’s back.</p><p>“Well,” Gavin said, turning to Reginnvaldr. “What now?”</p><p>Reginnvaldr just smiled, put his arm around him, and led him onwards.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Historical shenanigans/disclaimers, limiting myself to only two so as to not annoy:</p><p>1) The "fighting courtyard" is a very generalized European practice courtyard. These would typically be housed in a knight's/lord's hold. As Vikings were typically nomadic, this type of ring would be much less defined than the version given here and fighting practice would be much more casual than the training described. But fanfiction ;)</p><p>2) Michael's sword! I have so many opinions on Viking weapons, but to be brief, swords were <em>very</em> uncommon for use in battle because they were hard to make, hard to repair, and had only one use (fighting) while axes were easy to make (used less iron/steel), repair and maintain, and had multiple uses (tree chopping, throwing, preparing meat, etc). Swords were really more of a thing for the upper class during the tail end of the Viking Period so if anyone would be wielding a sword seriously, it would only be Reginnvaldr. That said, this is a fanfiction and I want Michael to have his signature 'Mogar' sword.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Important note: Potatoes did not exist in Medieval Europe until the tail end of the medieval period (ca 1650s for Scandinavia.) They are indigenous to the Americas. I know this. I just wanted to have a Lord of the Rings joke in there.<br/>Forever indebted to <a href="https://deaadcrush.tumblr.com/">Lou</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a>, the two most spectacular editors I could ask for.<br/>Danheim's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2snGxzABIWo">Fimbul Radio</a><br/><a href="https://biowill.tumblr.com">My tumblr </a> where we can geek out about medieval history and lament my grad classes together.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Five </p><p>    The months passed more quickly than Gavin would have thought possible. The whirlwind of learning the ins and outs of Ribe and his position as the head <em>fœða</em> of Reginnvaldr’s people proved exhausting and it was all Gavin could do in the evenings to remember to wash his feet before passing out in the oversized bed.</p><p><br/>
<em>Gavin hesitated for a moment, going over what he wanted to say another time to ensure he had the right words. “What’s this one called again?” he asked Jack in the northmen’s tongue, holding up a potato from the crop sled. They were helping to weed the field and harvest the ready crops. Mǫgr and Geoff were nearby but from the words Gavin could make out, they were mostly bickering and teasing instead of working.</em>
</p><p><em>“</em>Epil,<em>” Jack said.</em></p><p>
  <em>“At Castle Bamburgh we call that a ‘potato’,” Gavin said matter of factly. Jack scrunched his nose and squinted at Gavin suspiciously.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You made that up. Nothing is called a… a ‘poh-tay-toh’.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It is real! You boil ‘em, you mash ‘em. You stick ‘em in…” Gavin frowned for a moment, trying to recall the northman’s equivalent word. “You stick ‘em in a stew. ‘Potato’. That’s its name.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jack rolled his eyes in exasperated affection. “If you say so, Gav.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gavin stuck his tongue out at Jack and turned back to the crop sled. Despite standing still, Gavin nearly tripped into it when he saw Reginnvaldr standing there with a smile.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Uh, h-hello.” As quickly as the tongue was coming to him, Reginnvaldr always managed to reduce Gavin to a stuttering mess, words no more complex than that of a child.</em>
</p><p><em>“Gavin,” Reginnvaldr greeted. “How are you enjoying the </em>bú<em>?” </em></p><p>
  <em>Gavin felt himself reddening as he found he couldn’t remember the last word. “Uh y’know, it’s. It is. Y’know. I gotta go.” And with that, Gavin yanked the crop sled too quickly and ended up falling flat on his face into the damp soil. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mǫgr, Jack, and Geoff cackled at his expense and after ascertaining he was alright, Reginnvaldr chuckled. “You okay, Gavin?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Altogether it could have been a better experience.</em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Reginnvaldr was a peculiar man—even for a northman. Quiet in his contemplative moments but never lacking a smile or a joke. He commanded a room like every alpha Gavin had met, but did so in such a gentle, incomprehensible way. He was both exactly like a perfect alpha and nothing at all like one.</p><p><br/>
<em>It was another long day that ended with Gavin yanking his belt and aproned tunic off and collapsing face first into the bed, legs dangling off the edge and exhausted groan muffled by the furs that tickled his nose. He lay there for a moment, trying to convince himself to finish undressing and go through his evening ablutions. The days were easier in that Gavin could figure out at least half of what everyone said, and harder as he struggled to juggle the duties expected of him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>With another groan, Gavin rose from the bed and unlaced the short northmen shoes from his feet—and what odd things they were; so small compared to the boots of Northumbria and yet so sturdy nonetheless— and removed the woolen stockings. He was just beginning to wash his chest with the water pitcher and washcloth when the chamber door swung open.</em>
</p><p>
<em>Reginnvaldr looked as exhausted as Gavin felt, eyes heavily lidded and bruised from lack of sleep, his under-eyes stained a dull purple. He paused when he saw Gavin half naked with water dripping down his chest from the washcloth. Goosebumps rose on Gavin’s skin as Reginnvaldr’s bright blue eyes raked over his body, pausing at the heavy chain that rested on Gavin’s clavicle, still equipped. Gavin turned to fully face him and the little trinket on the end— the tiny serpent— jingled against itself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Reginnvaldr visibly swallowed and averted his gaze. “Good evening, Gavin,” he said in the northmen’s tongue. Though increasingly fluent, Gavin still found himself swept up in the way Reginnvaldr spoke rather than what he said.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Good evening, Reginnvaldr,” Gavin replied in kind. He slowly finished his washing and returned the cloth to its basin before crawling under the bed-furs. From his spot, burrowed and comfortable, he tried to disguise how he stared at Reginnvaldr. It was a chore. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gavin watched intently as Reginnvaldr stripped quickly and efficiently. His tunic folded and returned to his bedchest, his undertunic thrown into the washbasket. How his muscles shifted as he bent over to remove his shoes. How he balanced himself with one hand on the bed to unwrap his winingas—leg wraps—from strong calves, hand oh so close to Gavin’s toes under the furs.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He stretched then, pops and cracks sounding and Reginnvaldr grimaced as he rotated his neck. Without meaning to, Gavin spoke.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Y’could… You could take the bed. If you wanted. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor and you’ve been taking the floor for ages now. Seems unfair.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It wasn’t often Gavin spoke to Reginnvaldr in his own language—too often getting tongue-tied and shy— and it was even rarer he addressed him first. Reginnvaldr paused in his own washing and turned to Gavin, voice soft and eyes not meeting his.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It’s okay Gavin,” He said. “You need your rest and it’s not difficult to ensure your comfort.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“At least let us switch off?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Reginnvaldr smiled, still keeping his eyes firmly away from Gavin. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Good night, Gavin.”</em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Despite his gentle nature, today Reginnvaldr seemed stressed. His eyes were constantly narrowed, his shoulders tight, and, according to Jack, he’d had neither food nor drink since awaking before dawn. Even Gavin, who had grown accustomed to waking when Reginnvaldr did so early in the morning, had been dead to the world when he rose.</p><p>“Jack,” Gavin asked, wiping his hands on his apron from where they had been covered with flour from the bread they were making. “What’s got everyone so…” He paused and racked his brain for the proper word. Trying to recall emotions was difficult for Gavin, the northern tongue blended so many feelings together in one word. “What’s got everyone so upset? Is upset the right word?”</p><p>“Maybe ‘frazzled’, or ‘stressed.’” Jack replied, the descriptors were vaguely familiar and Gavin repeated them to himself several times to ensure the pronunciation stuck with him. “We’re expecting another clan to arrive this evening.”</p><p>Gavin prodded the coals in the oven to watch the sparks. He took a tray of dough from Jack and slid it in, reveling in the scent of dough and eager for the bread to bake. They’d put various herbs in this particular batch and Gavin so desperately wanted to taste it with the fresh butter Mjǫll—whom Gavin had taken to calling Meg— brought in earlier. </p><p>“So what’s this clan want with us? Why’s it so… stressful? For everyone.” Jack nodded at Gavin’s use of the word and took a sip of water from his nearby cup before answering.</p><p>“Reginnvaldr killed their leader’s father.” He said plainly. </p><p>Gavin gaped at his nonchalance. “He killed the guy’s father?! No wonder things are bloody tense! Why are they coming over? We’re not… going to war are we?”</p><p>Jack didn’t immediately answer much to Gavin’s worry, and when he did, his words weren’t reassuring. “We’re trying to avoid it.”</p><p>There was a lull in the conversation then, both men focused on preparing food for that evening’s meal. While nowhere near as lavish as the feast thrown for Gavin’s arrival so long ago, now that he looked closer, the fare was richer than usual. Lindsay whistled a song from her place at the far table, more preoccupied with gutting fish than what they had been saying, and her jovial tune helped ease any potential awkwardness from the silence.</p><p>“Jack,” Gavin spoke again after a few minutes. “What happens if we do go to war?”</p><p>Jack lowered his knife from where it had been slicing parsnips and sighed. “If we go to war, we go to war. Those of us who fight will leave for a time and Óðinn be with us we’ll return victorious.” Jack gave Gavin a sidelong glance. “And if we go to war, you would have sole charge of Ribe and have sole command of anyone kept here.”</p><p>    Gavin shifted uncomfortably at the thought. Though forced to live as a beta at Castle Bamburgh, his father had never enforced his military studies. Gavin barely knew how to hold a sword and certainly didn’t know a thing about strategy or command. Especially not with the northmen and their wars, so different from the slow marches of Northumbria. </p><p>    As if sensing his thoughts, Jack shifted so they bumped shoulders; a show of solidarity and support. “You’ll learn. You are Reginnvaldr’s omega and so you have certain responsibilities, that’s true, but no one ever said you needed to carry them alone.”</p><p>    Gavin gave a quick smile to Jack in thanks but said nothing more on the topic, choosing instead to pray that they never went to war. He wasn’t sure if the church’s almighty lord extended his reach here, and supposed the nordic gods—the Æsir, Gavin remembered— might hear his prayers louder. How odd to have so many gods for so many things though, Gavin supposed, it must make their jobs easier to spread their responsibilities across so many others. Hopefully if he ever took charge of Ribe, he would have the same luxury.</p><p>    “So what’s this bloke’s name?”</p><p>    “Eyesteinn Síbilja. He and Reginnvaldr’s father knew each other before and were friendly until something happened. I don’t know the details though I’m sure Reginnvaldr would tell you if you asked.”</p><p>    Gavin hummed. “I still don’t believe you about Ragnar Loðbrok, you know. About how he killed a dragon when he was just a boy and how he married a girl in a harp. That’s all rubbish Jack. Dragons don’t exist and no harp is big enough to fit a girl in it!”</p><p>    Jack erupted into laughter and shoved at Gavin playfully, Gavin’s squawks of indignation only making him laugh harder. The two devolved into play fighting, slapping left over flour on one another and pinching at soft bits of flesh until Gavin finally yielded, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. Lindsay yelled at them to get back to work, but there was a smile on her face so Gavin didn’t feel too bad about it all.</p><p>    They resumed their work; Gavin chunking carrots and Jack slicing parsnips. They finished speedily and it wasn’t too much longer until Gavin pulled the bread from the oven and got to relish in the taste of fresh bread and butter. Though he’d enjoyed a similar treat at Castle Bamburgh, there was something more satisfying, something tastier about eating unleavened bread that he had made himself. </p><p>    “I’ll put the vegetables in the pot to cook,” Lindsay said. “Send Meg in if you see her, but other than that, I’d say you’re good to go. I’ve got enough help here.” She gestured to the two younger apprentices still occupied with preparing food. </p><p>    Gavin nodded with a smile and Jack gave Lindsay a thanks before practically pulling Gavin out of the <em>stofa,</em> for which he was grateful. Though cozy, having so many bodies in the side room-cum-kitchen while both the oven and cook fire were lit made it just this side of uncomfortable.</p><p>    “You need to dress properly,” Jack murmured, walking with Gavin towards the hall of rooms. He said something else, but Gavin only recognized a few words.</p><p>    “Sorry Jack, gotta help me out with that one.”</p><p>    Jack didn’t miss a beat. “I said ‘formal wear’,” he switched back to the northmen tongue. “While not as important as your bonding by any means, it would not do to offend Eyesteinn. It’s better to err on the side of caution and dress too formally than too casually.”</p><p>    “Right,” Gavin nodded. They reached the end of the hall and Jack ducked into his own room, the second largest one and one closest to Reginnvaldr’s and Gavin’s room. </p><p>    And what an odd thought that was. It was their room and he felt the same kind of comfort and ease in there that he did in his chambers back at Castle Bamburgh. Perhaps even more comfort. It smelled pleasant, it was warmer. </p><p>    It was absolutely not because of Reginnvaldr’s presence.</p><p>    Gavin, thanks to his lessons with Jack and more than a few corrections from Lindsay, knew exactly how to dress and how to properly layer his formal clothing. It took only minutes for him to fully dress. The plus side to wearing this style of formal wear was the flowing and comfortable nature; Gavin didn’t miss the restrictive grandeur of Northrumbrian fashion in the slightest. </p><p>    If only father could see me now, Gavin thought with a sardonic smile.</p><p>    Considering how short a time he’d been here, nearing some five months, Gavin felt remarkably well adjusted. The language came quicker than he anticipated with his constant exposure to it, the clothing and food agreed with him, and even the hard work left him satisfied at the end of the day. Really, Gavin mused, the only issue he’d faced was the transition from a life of hiding to a life of openly being a male omega.</p><p><br/>
<em>“Jack,” Gavin asked hesitantly. “Can I ask you more about… Damn how do I say this.”</em></p><p>
  <em>    “Use as many words as you need to explain and if need be, I will give you an easier way.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “What’s with male omegas here being normal?” Gavin’s voice wasn’t as strong as he wanted it to be and he couldn’t help but to pick nervously at his nails. Even though Jack too was a male omega, Gavin couldn’t quite get over his fear of speaking about anything related to his dynamic. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “Are there no omegas in your lands?” Jack asked, open wonder which helped Gavin feel more secure about his own curiosity. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “Well, yes. But only omega women. My father always said omega men couldn’t exist, they’re unnatural.”</em>
</p><p><em>    Jack hummed and thought about his answer. “If </em>we<em> were unnatural, </em>we<em> would not be here.” Gavin didn’t miss the subtle emphasis on ‘we’. He supposed that was fair, he was a male omega after all.</em></p><p><em>    “It’s just.. They can— I mean </em>we<em> can— have children. And still have. Y’know. The other parts too. No other… dammit what’s the word?” Gavin ran a hand through his hair in frustration and tugged slightly at the locks. “Alpha women, right? They don’t have both. They just are. Why do we have both and they don’t?”</em></p><p>
  <em>    Jack looked contemplative and rubbed his beard. They continued walking together, no real destination in mind other than the conversation and no guide save their words. It was peaceful, a perfect contrast to the confusing talk.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “Why are alphas the measure of normalcy?” Jack finally said. “Comparing yourself to another dynamic doesn’t help you here and now.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    Gavin was silent at that. He supposed it was a fair point, but it didn’t really help him feel better about the why.</em>
</p><p><em>    “Gavin,” Jack said after a beat. He placed a hand on Gavin’s arm, his eyes were serious. “You don’t have to </em>be<em> anything, omega or otherwise. You’re Gavin. That’s enough.”</em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>    He strode back through the feast hall and gave a slight wave to Jerbjorn and his mate whose name Gavin still couldn’t remember. Jerbjorn smiled and then stuck his tongue out at Gavin while the mate fondly nudged him. The casual affection was cute and Gavin couldn’t help but feel warmed by it. </p><p>    It seemed everyone here was comfortable with touches, little assurances of friendship or love. While Gavin no longer startled at every touch, it certainly took some getting used to. Now though, seeing his friends so open with their affection… It made him pine for something he didn’t know how to ask for.</p><p>    Outside, he found Jack chasing his son around. Einráði, who Gavin had taken to calling Athie for ease of pronunciation and continued calling the boy by it when he giggled at the name, was squealing in joy every time his father caught up to him. </p><p>    “Gavin! It’s Gavin, stop, stop oma-papa, it’s Gavin!” The boy cried through laughter as Jack tickled him. It was a precious sight and the boy’s bright red cheeks spoke to both the air’s chill and his excitement. </p><p>    “Hello Athie, how are you?” Gavin greeted.</p><p>    “‘M good! Apa-papa took me to see the chickens this morning and the blue one laid another egg!” Athie scrunched up his nose. “You still talk funny.”</p><p>    Gavin’s smile grew and he had to fight to put on a mock-offended tone. “Oi! What would your apa-papa say if he heard you saying that?” </p><p>    Athie’s face grew stern—or as stern as a six year old’s face could grow— and answered very seriously. “That I’m right.”</p><p>    Both Jack and Gavin were startled into laughter at that, and Athie looked excitedly to his father. “I’m right oma-papa! I’m right!”</p><p>    “Yes, you are,” Jack said, ruffling Athie’s hair and ignoring Gavin’s half indignant squawk. “But it’s also rude to say so, and what have we been practicing about rudeness?”</p><p>    Athie sighed, as though the question were of the utmost arduous nature for a six-year-old with much more pressing matters to attend to. “T’not do it.” He looked up at Gavin with those big eyes and said very sincerely “Sorry Gavin.”</p><p>    Gavin had to hide his snicker by biting his tongue, but was sure some of the mirth showed on his face regardless. “I forgive you, Athie. Now want to show me your apa-papa’s chicken and its new egg?”</p><p>    With an exclamation of glee, Athie wriggled out of his father’s arms and raced ahead, leaving Gavin and Jack no choice but to follow the excited child towards the animal pens. He was bounding far enough from them that Gavin felt it okay to continue questioning Jack.</p><p>    “Eyesteinn,” he began, voice soft. “What does he want from all this?”</p><p>    Jack rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “We don’t know.”</p><p>    “Then how are we meant to act? What is the bloody point of it all?”</p><p>    Jack looked out to Athie who was chasing after one of Geoff’s chickens, hands outstretched to catch it. Jack’s eyes tightened in worry and his considering look soured into a deep frown. “We don’t know.” He rolled his shoulders once, as if to rid himself of excess tension. Though his scent was fainter outside among the livestock and woodsmoke and fields of crops, Gavin could smell his anxiety and his heart clenched at the feeling. He wished there was something he could do to ensure his friend’s comfort.</p><p>    “You should ask Reginnvaldr,” Jack said. “He’ll likely have more guidance for how to act than I will. You’re the <em>yfir-maðr</em>— that means ‘king’—  you’re the king’s… bonded.” Jack paused, hesitating, but his curiosity must have spurned him on. “You haven’t mated with Reginnvaldr?” Gavin shook his head to confirm. “That means your rank is ambiguous. Reginnvaldr will have a better understanding of how to act. Eyesteinn is temperamental at the best of times, it wouldn’t do to have a foreigner—no offense— act untraditional.”</p><p>    Gavin restrained himself from sighing and worried the inside of his cheek instead. It was difficult to be with Reginnvaldr in the sense that it was easy. Far easier than it should have been considering Reginnvaldr was a heathen who took Gavin away from Castle Bamburgh.</p><p>    “Fair point,” he replied. The conversation quickly came to a close when Athie ran back to jabber excitedly and point to a bluish chicken clucking nearby.</p><p>    Gavin supposed it would be a good idea to see Reginnvaldr as soon as possible so he could prepare himself. For knowing more about Eyesteinn if nothing else. </p><p>    But first, chickens.</p><p>⁂</p><p>    Reginnvaldr was thankfully ending a conversation when Gavin finally found him with the smith. The smith— an accomplished woman named Mica— gave a mock-bow to Reginnvaldr before scurrying off to the forge. Reginnvaldr rolled his eyes at her and stood to attention when he scented Gavin’s approach.</p><p>    “Gavin,” he greeted, turning around to face him. “Good morning.”</p><p>    “It’s afternoon now, Reginnvaldr!” Mica called from the forge.</p><p>    He raised an eyebrow and gave a long-suffering sigh but didn’t dignify Mica with a response. “Why don’t we go for a walk?”</p><p>    Gavin nodded mutely and followed him as he set a brisk pace. Quick enough that Gavin had to concentrate on his strides just as much as his own thoughts. The sounds of Ribe were the background to their walk as Gavin had suddenly forgotten how to speak and Reginnvaldr seemed content to wait patiently for him to remember. Finally, after a good five minutes, Gavin’s tongue unglued itself.</p><p>    “So there’s a rival… uh. Shit, what was the word. Leader person?” Gavin groaned, frustrated with himself and embarrassed to be caught without words in Reginnvaldr’s presence. He frowned hard at the ground, trying to remember the word.  </p><p>    Reginnvaldr didn’t stop them, but did swing his hand closer to Gavin’s so their knuckles touched. Little tingles like static danced up Gavin’s arm at the feeling and his annoyance calmed. “A rival king?” Reginnvaldr prompted. </p><p>    “A… yeah that’s the one.” Gavin fell silent again. Dammit, why was it so hard to just talk? They were bonded after all, shouldn’t that make it easier?</p><p>    A few minutes of silence passed, and while Gavin felt awkward at his inability to actually say anything he wanted to, the silence felt oddly comfortable. </p><p>    They made it to the fighting ring, empty at the moment with everyone occupied preparing for Eyesteinn’s arrival. Reginnvaldr came to a stop at the fence and leant against the wood to look at Gavin.</p><p>    “My father was an idiot,” he said without preamble and Gavin snorted. Turning red, he clasped a hand over his mouth but Reginnvaldr was laughing too, good natured and friendly. Gavin relaxed and allowed his hand to fall from the smile still present.</p><p>    “He was, it’s okay to laugh.”</p><p>    “I didn’t mean to, it’s just that we weren’t even discussing your father,” Gavin protested half-heartedly. “You caught me off guard.”</p><p>    “You asked about Eyesteinn and it’s a rather difficult situation to explain without knowing the entire story.” Reginnvaldr gave Gavin a teasing look. “Though truth be told, that story isn’t particularly interesting without a few gallons or more of mead in your stomach, so I’ll keep it brief.</p><p>    “My father’s second wife—my mother Áslaug— was a noblewoman but she had to hide this for a multitude of reasons. I’ll tell you some other time.” The suggestion that there’d be another time like this, just the two of them and Reginnvaldr’s smokey voice telling stories about his life sent Gavin’s heart fluttering. He wondered how much sooner he could have had this had he simply asked.</p><p>    “At one point my father had business in Eyesteinn’s kingdom and, to make this as brief as possible, he accidentally became engaged to Eyesteinn’s sister. I suspect a fair bit of alcohol was involved.”</p><p>    Gavin snorted again, making no attempt to hide it this time. “Your father <em>is</em> an idiot. How do you accidentally get engaged to someone?”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr gave a wane smile, but his eyes considered Gavin seriously for a moment. An immeasurable kind of sadness graced his handsome features, softening them to something forlorn and regretful.</p><p>    “Reginnvaldr?” Gavin prompted.</p><p>    “Yes,” he shook his head as if to clear it and rubbed the back of his neck in his form of embarrassment. He didn’t elaborate on his lapse in concentration and Gavin didn’t press him though he was desperately curious. “So he was betrothed to Eyesteinn’s sister and when he returned home, my mother already knew.”</p><p>    “How?”</p><p>    “She had many abilities, <em>seiðr, </em>omega magic, is a powerful and indescribable thing. I certainly can’t explain it, they say it’ll drive any alpha that tries mad.” Reginnvaldr waggled his eyebrows and Gavin laughed at the silliness. He wanted to know more about omega magic—and wasn’t that an odd sentence for a Northumbrian man who grew up in the church—but was more concerned with the immediate issue. </p><p>    “And what did she do when she found out?”</p><p>    “Well she gave him a good verbal thrashing and told him her true ancestry. She was a Volsung, daughter of Brynhild and and Sigurð. And, therefore, the descendent of Óðinn.”</p><p>    Gavin opened his mouth to interrupt, to question that absurd statement. But something serious in Reginnvaldr’s eyes stopped him. Did that mean Reginnvaldr was a descendant of Óðinn? That wasn’t possible. Even when Gavin did indulge in the idea of the god’s existence, how on earth could a regular human…?</p><p>    “My father was humbled by her knowledge, but didn’t say anything more. So she told him that she was pregnant and that if that child was born, it’d be a boy with a snake in his eye. And that if this came true, he couldn’t marry Eyesteinn’s sister.”</p><p>    “And I’m assuming that boy was born?”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr smirked and gestured to himself. At Gavin’s puzzled look, he pointed to his right eye. “Look closely.” </p><p>    “I’ve seen your eyes,” Gavin said, blushing slightly as he did. He hope it didn’t come across as familiar and flirtatious as it sounded. “There are absolutely no snakes in there.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr raised an eyebrow and leant closer to Gavin, coming off the wooden fence and crowding his space. Gavin’s heart beat harder and he licked his lips nervously. Reginnvaldr’s scent invaded his senses in a way it rarely did, even when they shared a room. Sweet woodsmoke and something else, lingering just beneath the surface, just out of Gavin’s reach. Oh how he longed to lean in and properly scent the man. To nose at his neck and find out what that smell was.</p><p>    “Gavin, take a look.” </p><p>    It was difficult for Gavin to make eye contact with Reginnvaldr. No other alpha had ever had this effect on him, especially what with him living as a beta for so many years and training himself out of the instinct for submission.</p><p>    Once their eyes locked, however, Gavin was hard pressed to look away. That electricity from months ago at the bonding ceremony was back and even more prominent than before. It was enough that Gavin felt all the air leave his lungs in a rush; each new breath in filling him with Reginnvaldr’s scent. He wondered if he could live the rest of his life like this, stuck in place by Reginnvaldr’s eyes, surrounded by his presence, lungs full of his scent. </p><p>    He wouldn’t mind.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr gave a full body shudder and cleared his throat. He sounded hoarse, as if the very look between them caused strain on his body. “Closely, look at the color.” </p><p>    He did, and to his surprise, there was a variation in blue in his right eye. Little flecks of silver and a dark blue curled around the iris and rounded out, not unlike a snake. It wasn’t particularly noticeable if you weren’t looking for it, and it was only in the clear sunlight outside that Gavin could truly see it.</p><p>    “Huh,” he said. “So your mother was right.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr smiled and pulled back the slightest amount, though they were still much too close for polite company. Gavin didn’t care.</p><p>    “She was,” Reginnvaldr said. “My father never went to marry Eyesteinn’s sister. Years and years passed. Two of my half-brothers—from my father’s first marriage— were killed by the Síbilja clan, their dread cow grew in size and terror, and eventually, they brought the battle to us. I was fourteen or fifteen at the time.”</p><p>    “And so you killed Eyesteinn’s father,” Gavin whispered, more of a statement than a question.</p><p>    “And so I killed Eyesteinn’s father,” Reginnvaldr agreed. </p><p>    “So that explains why Eyesteinn hates you,” Gavin said bluntly. “But not this weird kind-of-peace-kind-of-not-peace, nor what on earth a ‘dread cow’ is.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr pulled back farther at that and Gavin immediately had to quash the whine that bubbled up in his throat. He immediately wanted to take back the words that caused his retreat, how his hands longed to reach out and drag the man closer. Reginnvaldr’s hands twitched as if mirroring the sentiment but he placed them on the fence.</p><p>    “My father was captured in the battle. Eyesteinn thew him into a pit of serpents. A cruel mockery of his feats in life,” Reginnvaldr spat. Grief laced his tone and Gavin’s brow furrowed in concern.</p><p>    “I’m sorry,” Gavin said softly. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr nodded and finally broke eye contact, and Gavin immediately felt deprived for it. An indignant whine wormed its way out of his throat without him meaning for it to, and Gavin froze in shock. Reginnvaldr looked shocked too, and in attempts to calm him, he reached out and grasped one Gavin’s hands. The relief Gavin felt was unparalleled. At the same time they stuttered:</p><p>    “I—Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”</p><p>
    “Bollocks, sorry, I’m awful at this.”</p><p>    They both laughed nervously when their speech overlapped. “We’re kind of a mess, aren’t we?” Gavin said, squeezing his hand</p><p>    Reginnvaldr shook his head, smiling. “The messiest.”</p><p>    They stood in silence for a moment, Gavin breathing in the clear air and trying to regain some semblance of balance, Reginnvaldr rolling his shoulders and gently running his thumb over Gavin’s hand.</p><p>    “And what’s this dread cow nonsense about?” Gavin eventually asked. Reginnvaldr sighed heavily and furrowed his brow.</p><p>    “Imagine an ordinary cow, one that you can milk, one that eats your crops when you forget to close the pen. Now imagine, that when it moos your ears are bleeding, your mind has fled, and you’re filled with the need to kill your friends and slaughter your kinsmen.”</p><p>    “Ah,” Gavin said, voice high with surprise and discomfort. He cleared his throat and tried to dispel the tension. “So just like a normal cow then.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr laughed, and Gavin’s heart soared at the sound. He didn’t think he could ever tired of hearing such a delightful laugh. “Just like. That’s why we want to stay as friendly with Eyesteinn as we can.”</p><p>    “Jack mentioned I’ll have to act a certain way for that,” Gavin said, lilting his statement up to mimic a question.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr let out a short sight and frowned. “I want to tell you to act however you want; this is your home, not his. But yes. Falling back on tradition always makes it easier.”</p><p>    “And what traditions will I be expected to follow?”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr tugged on Gavin’s hand and the walked a short distance to the wooden benches lining the training ring. He sat down heavily and Gavin followed suit. “You remember the bonding feast?” Reginnvaldr asked.</p><p>    Gavin tried his best not to blush at the memory. “I do.”</p><p>    “It will be similar to that. You’ll, uh, have to be hand fed again.” Gavin didn’t immediately reply and Reginnvaldr was quick to backpedal. “I—of course we could probably work something out if-if you don’t want to. I could say you’re feeling ill, or, or we could—“</p><p>    “Val,” Gavin interrupted, accompanying his words with a firm squeeze to his hand. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.” While not a lie, the hasty reassurance omitted just how very ‘fine’ the hand feeding was and Gavin had to fight not to blush. “Besides, it’s just for one meal yeah?”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr winced. “It’d be for, well, every meal he could see us at.”</p><p>    “It’s fine. I really don’t mind, Val.”</p><p>    “Val?” Reginnvaldr asked, finally taking note of the nickname. “What does ‘Val’ mean?”</p><p>    Now Gavin did blush and went to pull his hand away from Reginnvaldr’s grasp but was stopped by a tug and a huff. Reginnvaldr pulled Gavin’s hand closer to him and placed their joined hands in his lap.</p><p>    “Is it like ‘Jack’?” Reginnvaldr asked in a soft tone. Amusement shone through but so did fondness and something heart-achingly tender. “Do I finally get a name of my own? I’ve been wondering when I would be granted the honor.” Reginnvaldr huffed in mock-offense. “Even Mjǫll got a name before me!” Reginnvaldr leaned closer to Gavin and put on a truly awful smirk. “Do you like Mjǫll more than me, Gavin? I’m hurt.”</p><p>    That smirk could turn stronger men to jelly, Gavin thought. He made a noise that could best be categorized as a groan and in a moment of daring—because really, how couldn’t he be daring when Reginnvaldr teased him so?—Gavin pressed his finger to Reginnvaldr’s mouth to shush him. </p><p>    “I didn’t think you wanted a name, you tosspot,” he said, voice just above a whisper but playful nonetheless. Gavin took a steadying breath to keep the nerves at bay. “Val sounds like it’s short for Reginnvaldr. Val, is that name okay?”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr smiled and pressed a kiss to the finger Gavin still held to his lips. “It’s perfect.”</p><p>    Gavin’s brain buzzed like the air before a lightning storm and he sputtered. He quickly withdrew his finger and looked away from Reginnvaldr, suddenly finding the rocks on the ground quite interesting. God he could practically feel his blood vibrating as it rushed through his veins. The soft, vaguely chapped lips, plumper in the middle and tapered out, warm and inviting. The sensation lingered and if Gavin concentrated hard enough, it felt like they were still there, dragging across his finger.</p><p>    He choked down a whine that wanted to escape and cleared his throat. He needed a topic, something to say. Anything to distract from the electricity buzzing through him. “Why do you hand feed your omegas here anyways?” He asked, voice hoarser than he would have liked, but words clear enough to understand. </p><p>    “Omegas are treasured,” Reginnvaldr said, and Gavin could feel his eyes on him, analyzing his reaction. It caused a shiver to run down his spine. “There is no higher honor for an alpha than to feed their omega.”</p><p>    “It’s a bit demeaning thought, isn’t it.” Gavin gave no inflection to his tone, allowing it to fall flat like a statement.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr paused for a moment, eyes considering. “I suppose it could be,” he said at last. “Just as anything can be an honor or demeaning. It might be honorable to be scented, a sign or trust. Or it might be humiliating, a sign of weakness and vulnerability. Did it feel demeaning when I hand fed you at our bonding?”</p><p>    Gavin frowned and thought back to that night, so long ago and yet so easily recalled. “It felt… Yeah, at first it felt like I was a dog or something.” He glanced at Reginnvaldr just in time to see his face fall. “B-but then it felt fine—it felt good. I… It felt like you cared about me.” He rushed to finish, desperate to rid Reginnvaldr’s features of despair.</p><p>    “I do care about you,” Reginnvaldr admitted quietly. Gavin swallowed and returned his gaze to the peddles littering the ground, unsure of how to reply to that.</p><p>    He supposed he cared for Reginnvaldr too, though it was difficult to define his feelings beyond that. The man was gentle and understanding. Strong and capable. He was considerate and showed such kindness to Gavin. It was hard not to care for him when he acted how he did.</p><p>    Gavin hesitantly opened his mouth to try and form his feelings into words and return the sentiment, but Reginnvaldr interrupted him. “In any case, it’s meant to show an alpha and their omega as a united front. No one could ever doubt the trust between an alpha and omega like that. And trust is paramount to strength.” The words left Reginnvaldr in such a rush that Gavin was sure he meant to move away from his declaration of caring, and so he left his own feelings alone. He supposed they didn’t need speaking right now anyways.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr readjusted his grip on Gavin’s hand, reminding Gavin that their hands were still clasped together and a new flood of warmth raced through him at the sensation. “You’re going to want to sit as straight as you can. Don’t shrink down in front of Eyesteinn or his men, don’t avert your eyes. They’ll find it impressive if you stare them down. You’re a bold omega, like Frigg, and you will force them to respect you if nothing else.”</p><p>    “That’s Óðinn’s mate, right?” </p><p>    “Yes. Any my very distant foremother.”</p><p>    Gavin huffed a laugh and shook his head. He felt Reginnvaldr’s hand shift again in his. “You said that earlier and Jack said the same thing a while ago. That you’re descended from the gods.”</p><p>    He felt, rather than heard, Reginnvaldr laugh, the motion brushing their shoulders together. “You don’t believe it.”</p><p>    “I’m… skeptical,” Gavin admitted. “To say the least.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr resumed rubbing his thumb over Gavin’s hand. “It’s fantastic, I know. Eyesteinn thinks so too, which is why he’s so bold, I think. Most other clans respect the blood of Óðinn, whether they think it real or not.”</p><p>    “Don’t compare me to Eyesteinn,” Gavin said, a frown growing. “I just can’t wrap my head around it.”</p><p>    “I apologize, I didn’t mean to compare you.” Reginnvaldr was silent for a moment. “My mother was the last of the Volsung clan. Daughter of Sigurðr, who was the son of Sigmundr, who was the son of Volsung, son of Rerir, son of Sigi. And Sigi was the son of Óðinn.” </p><p>    “That,” Gavin said definitively, looking up at Reginnvaldr for emphasis. “Is a lot of very difficult to pronounce names.”</p><p>    “See, you say that but you come from a place called ‘Northumbria’, so forgive me if I take your complaints with a grain of salt.”</p><p>    Gavin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “So what, Óðinn is your…” He counted the names quickly with his free hand. “Your grandfather five generations back?”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr’s eyes shined and he laughed, the sound high and contagious. Gavin felt his lips curl up at it. “Five generations back,” he confirmed.  </p><p>    “Well you definitely fight like you want to prove it.”</p><p>    “Pay attention to me fighting?” Reginnvaldr teased.</p><p>    “I’ve seen a bit,” Gavin returned glibly. “But I don’t know if it’s Óðinn level fighting.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr laughed out loud again, and shook his head. He brought Gavin’s hand to his chest and pressed it against him tightly. “I’ll have to strive for better then, won’t I?”</p><p>    Rolling his eyes, Gavin splayed his fingers out to feel more of Reginnvaldr’s chest. He bit his lip feeling the warm strength beneath and struggled not to press harder.</p><p>    “Sit up straight, get hand fed, show them you’re not afraid. Anything else I need to do, O’ son of Óðinn?” Gavin teased.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr looked at him fondly and brought Gavin’s hand up to his mouth. He pressed the lightest of kisses to his palm and then returned Gavin’s hand to him. It was a good thing Reginnvaldr shook his head in response to Gavin’s question because Gavin wasn’t sure he could absorb any kind of information in any kind of meaningful way after that. Gods it was even worse on the palm of his hand than on his finger, the nerves tingling sharply after.</p><p>    “You only need to be yourself.” Reginnvaldr stood then and pulled Gavin up with him. His eyes took on a mischievous glint and he smirked. “They’ll all be so enamored, I should be worrying about me.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter had a LOT of historical goofiness, and per a couple requests, I will list more than two:</p><p>1) King Eyesteinn (from The Saga of Ragnar Lodbrok) is an antagonistic king from Sweden. He was combined with King Ælla from the same saga for ease of storytelling (Ælla being the one who killed Ragnar.) 'Síbilja, which I've used as his surname, is the name of the 'dread cow' he uses in the saga. His 'real' (or as real as a semi-mythic king can be) surname was 'Beli.' Additionall, in SoRL, Ragnar becomes engaged to Eyesteinn's daughter, not his sister, and only a few months passed after he broke off the engagement, not years and years, the reason being:</p><p>2) Finally we get to who inspired Reginnvaldr's character! He is a combination of the slightly later period Danish king Rollo who sacked Paris and Sigurd Ragnarsson (the snake eyed son of Ragnar.) I said 'years and years passed' between Ragnar's faux-engagement to Eyesteinn's daughter/sister to better fit with Reginnvaldr's fictional thirty-two year age, as Sigurd was only a few years old when the Ragnarssons went avenging Ragnar.</p><p>3) There is no actual evidence of Frigg being the mother of Sigi in the Volsung clan, and more likely that the mother was a human based off Odin’s track record and Sigi’s abilities, but I like the idea. I also used the anglicized spelling of Volsung (opposed to Vǫlsungr) because I think it's prettier ^^;</p><p>4) Yes, according to SoRL, the Swedes worshiped a holy cow that could inspire people to frenzy in battle. It's even weirder than I made it sound here.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We owe readability to <a href="https://deaadcrush.tumblr.com/">Lou</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a>, without whom this would be a pile of purple-prosey nonsense.<br/>Atmospheric music at Danheim's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2snGxzABIWo">Fimbul Radio</a><br/>This is a very historical chapter, with lots of fun (and some steamy) bits in it! From a recounting of a Viking saga, to the order of seats in a mead hall. And keep an eye out for foreshadowing; there is a TON of it in this chapter ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 6</p><p>    “This is awful,” Gavin complained. “It’s bloody cold and I’m bloody hungry, and if they take any longer to march like dramatic arseholes up to the house, I’m going to freeze my bloody bits off and eat my own bloody foot.”</p><p>    Jack scrunched up his face in an attempt to stifle his laughter, but his shaking shoulders gave him away. Geoff from the side must have been listening in because he snorted and reached around his mate to punch Gavin in the shoulder. “Shut the fuck up, Gavin.”</p><p>    Jack did laugh then and quickly covered his mouth with his hands to stifle the big belly laughs. Gavin started laughing too then and little squeaks of joy escaped him despite his best attempts. Even Mǫgr seemed to be fighting a smile.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr stood to Gavin’s other side and though he showed no outward change in expression, he pinched Gavin’s arm to show his thoughts about the snark. He was back in his own formal wear with one exception. A mantel of black shaggy fur and a long cloak wrought with burns decorated his broad shoulders. It was altogether a rather hideous addition to his otherwise flattering ensemble and Gavin scrunched his nose at the smell of pitch radiating from the garment and clogging Reginnvaldr’s normally lovely scent. </p><p>    “Your… damn what’s the word? Your shoulder clothing. It smells awful.”</p><p>    “Cloak,” Reginnvaldr whispered, the briefest twitch of a smile gracing his mouth. His eyes were still firmly fixed on the approaching clan. “And I’m inclined to agree. It doesn’t have a particularly nice smell. It was my father’s though, proof of his feats in life.”</p><p>    “And a cloak proves what exactly?”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr’s eyes darted to Gavin briefly and back again just as fast. “Behave, Gavin.” </p><p>    It was said with such a teasing tone and yet Gavin couldn’t help but shiver slightly at the chastisement. Bastard.</p><p>    While Gavin contemplated Reginnvaldr’s unfair abilities, the rival clan finally came near enough that Reginnvaldr took Gavin’s arm in his own and straightened his posture to his full, rather intimidating, height. Gavin cleared his throat and tried to do the same, but he wasn’t sure he came across even half as confident as Reginnvaldr. Maybe he also needed a special stinky cloak.</p><p>    “Reginnvaldr!” Came a booming voice, sharp like sap crackling in a fire and just as loud. “I present King Eyesteinn Síbilja, the greatest king in the known world, ruler of <em>Svíþjóð</em>, commander of the dread cow Síbilja.”</p><p>    “Greatest king in the known world,” scoffed Mǫgr. “Yeah, he’s real great. Everyone knows that great kings need to remind people they’re great.”</p><p>    Gavin felt inclined to agree, though the pomp of the procession was impressive, he couldn’t even tell which man was Eyesteinn. While he could pick Reginnvaldr out of a crowd effortlessly—even back in the beginning— all of the Síbilja clan men just… blended together in a sea of mundanity. How underwhelming. Gavin was kind of hoping for some dramatic villain to reveal himself.</p><p>    “Reginnvaldr,” called Jack and were it not for Reginnvaldr’s firm hand holding Gavin still, he would have jumped at how loud he was. Much too loud for practically yelling in Gavin’s ear. “Son of Áslaug of the Volsung Clan and Ragnar Loðbrok, King of <em>Jutland</em>, welcomes you and invites you to make yourselves comfortable.”</p><p>    “Reginnvaldr!” Greeted an unassuming man. He was shorter than Reginnvaldr and wiry. A large mustache and half beard streaked with white and grey covered his lips and connected to thick whiskers running down his cheeks. He wore a smile but it didn’t convey joy or even comfort. It was thin and strained, uncomfortable. His eyes, a cloudy grey, squinted in frustration or wariness and flickered to Reginnvaldr’s gathered court. “It has been too long, my old friend!”</p><p>    “Far too long,” agreed Reginnvaldr and though Gavin could hear the strain in his voice, he supposed himself one of the few it was so well disguised. “You look well, Eyesteinn. Your crops have been doing well?”</p><p>    Eyesteinn laughed, tossing his head back to hide how insincere the sound was. “Oh you know that’s not what I concern myself with. No, we’ve been having much better luck with traveling to the southern lands and sampling their fare. I’m sure you’ve done a fair bit of sampling yourself, eh?” He nodded to Gavin, who realized he was clutching Reginnvaldr’s arm so hard his fingers were aching.</p><p>    “Gavin is exceptional,” Reginnvaldr replied smoothly, both an answer and an evasion. It wouldn’t do to have Eyesteinn understanding the details of how Gavin came to <em>Jutland</em> if they wanted to present a united front. “Without equal.”</p><p>    Eyesteinn hummed in what might have been agreement had he not such a disbelieving expression. “You always did follow Frigg, didn’t you?” The teasing fell flat; a joke more appropriate for close friends than tense rivals and Gavin bristled at it. He may have still been learning about the Æsir, but even he knew that sacrificing to the omegean goddess was anything other than weak. For Eyesteinn to imply otherwise spoke of alphaic arrogance. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr gave a wane smile. “Shall we adjourn to the hall to begin your welcome feast?”</p><p>    As they walked back towards the hall, Gavin noticed Eyesteinn commanding some men to stay behind and set up camp on a fallow field, a fair distance from the long house. “Why’s he having his men stay outside? We’ve enough room for them in the hall.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr shrugged. “Status, maybe? Trying to show us how much influence he has over his men?”</p><p>    Gavin frowned but didn’t offer any other theory. He supposed it didn’t really matter in the end though it tickled his mind strangely.</p><p>    As the approached the hall, Reginnvaldr moved his arm away from Gavin’s so he could instead rest his hand on the small of his back. Gavin nearly jumped out of his skin at the touch, so much hotter than the arm contact, blazing through the layers clothing and seeping into his skin. </p><p>    He wondered how much hotter it would be without the layers of clothing.</p><p>    The hall was busy as ever, similar to the bonding feast and Gavin realized how much more comfortable he was this time around in all the finery and with all the formality. He took his seat in the embellished stool next to Reginnvaldr’s throne. Reginnvaldr stood next to him, a hand still resting on his shoulder, a point of contact to show their solidarity.</p><p>    Eyesteinn sat on Reginnvaldr’s other side, where Meg usually sat and Gavin tried not to grimace at the prospect. Luckily, Reginnvaldr squeezing his shoulder and speaking distracted him from the discomfort.</p><p>    “Welcome all. You have leave to make yourselves comfortable. Eat, drink, be merry, and ensure you sample the mead before Jakaupr can drink it all.” A ripple of laughter— some genuine, but most of it polite and somewhat strained— rang through the hall and with a grand sweep of his hands, Reginnvaldr cued a flautist and drummer to begin their playing. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr transferred his hand to Gavin’s own as he sat down and before he could think too hard about it, Gavin leaned into his reassuring strength. He felt Reginnvaldr stiffen before relaxing into a soft comfort for him. It felt heavenly and Gavin was vaguely reminded of leaning back into him all those months ago on the way to Ribe. He made a mental note to ask Reginnvaldr about why he did that later and meanwhile took a sweeping glance around the room. </p><p>    Meg clutched a bowl of mead near the <em>stofa</em>, looking more anxious than Gavin could ever remember her looking. He furrowed his brows in concern before remembering the presence of Eyesteinn and his men and quickly schooled his expression into one of pleasant neutrality instead. He leaned in closer to Reginnvaldr to whisper in his ear.</p><p>    “Why’s Meg look so worried?” he asked, gently placing his free hand on Reginnvaldr’s chest to sell the illusion that he was merely an omega whispering flirtatious nothings into his alpha’s ear and not a nervous foreigner confused about tradition. </p><p>    To Reginnvaldr’s credit he didn’t negatively react to the close contact and even brought up his hand to run it through Gavin’s unruly locks to further sell the illusion of newly-bonded intimacy. Gavin arched his back at the feeling and swallowed hard to avoid purring like he so badly wanted to.</p><p>    “She’s still deciding who to give the first drink to,” Reginnvaldr whispered, his lips just barely grazing Gavin’s ear and Gods, the shiver that ran through him at that. “She spoke with me about it earlier but ultimately it’s her choice.” It made sense, Gavin realized. If she offended Eyesteinn with her choice, it could hurt the peace.    </p><p>    After a beat, Meg must have made her choice. With a determined nod to herself, Meg strode from the <em>stofa</em> to the long table and stopped in front of Reginnvaldr, Gavin, and Eyesteinn. With a quick wink to Gavin, she extended the bowl and poured a generous amount of mead into his drinking horn.</p><p>    Eyesteinn let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Cheeky. You better be prepared to have a spoiled omega treating him like that and giving him first drink, Reginnvaldr.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr smiled placidly and drew back from Gavin, though he still held his hand. Using his other hand, he deftly took the filled horn and tilted it to Gavin. Crisp honey, tart with age and alcohol, filled his mouth and it was even better than the last time he’d had it. He drank deeply from the horn and kept drinking until Reginnvaldr pulled it away. Meg rolled her eyes at the display and filled Reginnvaldr’s horn before quickly filling Eyesteinn’s without any fanfare. Reginnvaldr set Gavin’s horn down a fair distance away.</p><p>    “Can’t have you getting lightheaded on me,” he teased. “At least not until you’ve got some food in you.”</p><p>    “Always found it easier when they’re lightheaded,” Eyesteinn said from the side. He tilted his own horn and drank from it in tremendous gulps, draining it just as quickly as Meg had originally filled it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slammed the drinking horn on the table to signal for another pour. Gavin felt, rather than heard, Reginnvaldr scoff at the rudeness. Even Gavin—new to the culture as he was— knew there were better ways to request more mead. </p><p>    Eyesteinn spoke again. “You always did have the kegs filled and the mead clear, Reginnvaldr, Oðinn help the man who denies that.”</p><p>    “Oðinn help him indeed,” Gavin said before Reginnvaldr could reply. “Though I think it’d be quite the insult to Oðinn himself considering his place as Reginnvaldr’s forefather. And his care for mead.” By Eyesteinn’s look, he hadn’t been expecting him to say anything at all, let alone to remind of Reginnvaldr’s godly lineage. Gavin relished in the surprise and allowed the smallest smirk to grace his own face.</p><p>    “That’s quite a loyal omega you have there,” Eyesteinn said with a slight chuckle. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, as if uncomfortable. Gavin counted it as a win. “Haven’t mated him yet, though. Something wrong with him?” </p><p>    Reginnvaldr’s eyes flashed dangerously. He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a server bearing several large platters of food. Gavin silently thanked the gods for allowing Reginnvaldr a moment to cool down before his tongue got them in trouble. </p><p>     Though the fare wasn’t as lavish as their bonding ceremony, it was still leagues richer than what they enjoyed on a daily basis and Gavin’s mouth watered at the sight. The bread he and Jack baked earlier that day graced the plates and he gave an internal cheer at his contribution being included.</p><p>    “Gavin is unique,” Reginnvaldr said, tearing off a piece of tender beef and holding it out to Gavin. “He deserves far more courting than a hasty romp in the woods. He’s worth waiting for.”</p><p>    Gavin blinked at the statement but managed to keep his expression neutral. He couldn’t quite fathom what Reginnvaldr was implying with that, and resolved to ask him later. Now was not the time to dwell on it. Instead leaned forward and gently took the offered meat from Reginnvaldr’s fingers with his teeth. Salted and bloody and absolutely delicious.</p><p>    “Very polite too,” Eyesteinn said. He had not yet touched his own food and seemed instead focused exclusively on them. Gavin bristled at the thought. They were putting on this show— the whole fanfare and pomp and exaggerated relationship— specifically to convince Eyesteinn of the strength and stability of Reginnvaldr’s clan. And yet Gavin felt like he was intruding on an otherwise comfortable and intimate moment. </p><p>    He grinned just slightly too sharply to be polite and turned his gaze directly to Eyesteinn, making direct eye contact. “Only for my alpha,” he replied.</p><p>    Eyesteinn inclined his head to agree the point but maintained eye contact. It made Gavin want to squirm in discomfort or hide his face away in Reginnvaldr’s foul cloak, but he didn’t. He almost wished he had given into the instinct though when Eyesteinn’s eyes lit up and a smile played on the corners of his mouth.</p><p>    After a moment that felt entirely too long, Eyesteinn turned to his food and the conversation stilled. A quick glance around told Gavin that most everyone seemed more preoccupied with their food than making idle conversation. The two clans kept to themselves for the most part. The few people Eyesteinn had accompanying him—all alphas barring one scantily clad omega— barely looked up from their food let alone engaged their table-mates. </p><p>    After a while, Gavin felt contentedly full and pushed the offered piece of potato to Reginnvaldr’s own mouth. He chuckled and wasted no time in sating his own hunger. Gavin wondered how it might feel to feed Reginnvaldr himself. If Reginnvaldr would delicately pluck the food from Gavin’s fingers with his teeth or if he would let his tongue drag across the digits. Gavin shuddered at the mere thought and shoved it away, resolved to think about the possibility later. And not in front of an entire dining hall full of people.</p><p>    In contrast to his own alpha, Eyesteinn hadn’t even glanced at the omega sitting beside him. They didn’t smell mated—though Gavin was far enough from the two of them that he allowed it could be a possibility— and she seemed rather bored with the whole affair. A thick hide collar hugged her neck tightly and Gavin could see red lines of irritation where the hide had rubbed her raw. </p><p>    “What’s your mate’s name?” Gavin asked. He let himself lean into Reginnvaldr and settled a hand on his far shoulder to hang on him. Gavin’s own seat was nearly superfluous with how far on Reginnvaldr’s lap he had draped himself. He couldn’t feel any worrisome reaction from Reginnvaldr at his questioning so he assumed it was safe to proceed. “She’s cute. Are you enjoying the feast?”</p><p>    The omega flinched at being addressed directly but stared determinedly at her food. Gavin furrowed his brows at the reaction. </p><p>    Eyesteinn laughed and reached a hand out to roughly grip her red hair and yank her head back. A thick whimper spilled from her mouth but was quickly bitten back. “The omega asked you a question.” He yanked harder and tears sprung to the omega’s unfocused eyes.</p><p>    “It is wonderful, Reginnvaldr-Fœða,” she said, voice hoarse and rough, like it hadn’t been used in ages. “I am grateful for your hospitality.” </p><p>    Eyesteinn released her hair with a slight shove and were it not for the bench and table, Gavin feared she might have fallen over. She refocused her attention to her plate of half-picked over food. </p><p>    “She’s not my mate,” Eyesteinn said, and he sounded almost proud of the fact. “Just one of my omegas. You understand of course.” He was more addressing Reginnvaldr at this point than Gavin, angling his torso to the alpha. “Much easier that way, isn’t it?”</p><p>    Gavin looked up at Reginnvaldr but couldn’t see much of his expression. The way his hand tightened on Gavin’s, however, gave enough insight. </p><p>    “I can’t say I agree, though I do know some alphas feel otherwise about mating.” Reginnvaldr’s voice was awfully cold and Gavin would bet money on his face showing something equally stormy. Well that wouldn’t do, they were trying to keep a peace here.</p><p>    “You have many omegas then, Eyesteinn?” Gavin asked, trying to keep the conversation light. </p><p>    Oh dear. He could tell the moment the words left his mouth that he knew he did something wrong, something worse than Reginnvaldr’s cool disposition. Reginnvaldr continued to hold him, the rest of the hall continued their conversations, the musicians played on. But Gavin could tell. </p><p>    Eyesteinn gave Gavin what might have been a smile, but it had far too many teeth on display, was far too much like a grimace with its downturned corners, and was accompanied by eyes narrowing far too much to be anything but a threat. </p><p>    “Your omega presumes too much, Reginnvaldr, calling an alpha by his name,” he said, voice only just shy of being a growl. “If I were you, I’d teach it some manners before it does something too rude to be forgiven.” </p><p>    Reginnvaldr growled and Gavin could feel the vibrations shudder through his spine. Gavin hastened to sit upright again, though he didn’t fight Reginnvaldr’s death grip on his hand.</p><p>    “If you think for a moment that I’ll tolerate you speaking like that, then you—”</p><p>    “My sincerest apologies, lord of Svíþjóð. I’m afraid my ignorance as to your title embarrasses me,” Gavin interrupted. He took a moment to marvel that he was being the more rational one. It so often felt like Reginnvaldr was the one in control and at ease while Gavin fumbled and tripped his way through life. “Please, forgive me?”</p><p>    Gavin bowed his head just slightly towards Eyesteinn and dropped his shoulders in a polite act of submission. Despite the necessity, the action soured his stomach. He didn’t want to submit to this awful temperamental man. He wanted to hold his head high and sneer.</p><p>    But that wouldn’t do any good and more than anything, Gavin wanted to prove that he could be a worthy member of the clan. He would not be the reason peace broke down tonight. He elbowed Reginnvaldr in the side to stop the growls and surprisingly, they cut off.</p><p>    “Gavin—” Reginnvaldr tried, but Gavin interrupted him again.</p><p>    “Can you forgive me, lord of Svíþjóð? And enlighten me as to your proper title?”</p><p>    Eyesteinn’s teeth were still bared and his eyes still cold, but he settled down the slightest amount, shoulders relaxing, posturing subsiding. “I cannot condone your presumptuousness,” hr said pointedly and paused for emphasis. Gavin very politely did not roll his eyes at the dramatics. “But I’m a fair man. You’re forgiven, Reginnvaldr-Fœða.” He shot a look to Reginnvaldr, almost chastising but far too hostile. “And your alpha should teach you that your alpha better is your <em>yfir-maðr.</em>”</p><p>    Gavin bit his tongue at the phrase, recognizing it from his vocabulary lesson with Jack. That one bit of vocabulary just wouldn’t stick in his mind and now it’d gone and made everything tense. And what a phrase too! Even if just in a title, Gavin <em>loathed</em> the idea of referring to anyone other than Reginnvaldr as his alpha. And wait, since when had he come to think of Reginnvaldr as his alpha? The thought was alarming and Gavin’s hand twitched towards the mead to drown it. Alas, Reginnvaldr’s grip was as tight as ever. “Thank you, <em>yfir-maðr</em>,” Gavin said. “I greatly appreciate your patience.” The words left a bitter taste on his tongue.</p><p>    The grip on his hand was starting to hurt with how desperately Reginnvaldr clung to it. Gavin yanked gently on their connection until Reginnvaldr realized and let go so quickly it was like he’d been burned. A thumb gently rubbed Gavin’s poor hand in apology while Reginnvaldr plucked the drinking horn from the table and held it to Gavin’s lips, refusing to take it away until nearly half the mead was gone. </p><p>    He appreciated the gesture. Poor Reginnvaldr hardly drank at all compared to the rest of his clan, and was making a brave sacrifice to endure Eyesteinn sober and give his mead to Gavin. A ticklish, tricky part of Gavin’s brain whispered that he should reward Reginnvaldr for his bravery and an even trickier part suggested how. </p><p>    Eyesteinn grunted but the matter seemed solved. Or at least put on hold as he slammed his cup down and called for more mead. Gavin took a deep breath to calm his annoyance at the rude action and tried to catch Jack’s eye. Unfortunately, he was deep in conversation with Mǫgr. No shared looks of disbelief over alphas right now, unfortunately.</p><p>    It was still awkwardly silent between those at the head of the table. Eyesteinn seemed content to drink mead and tear at his bread and Reginnvaldr seemed content to let him fume— if one could be content and nearly growling that is. Gavin wracked his brain for a discussion topic but nothing seemed innocuous enough. He was quickly learning how different Eyesteinn’s clan was to Reginnvaldr’s clan—to his <em>own</em> clan. He’d grown comfortable with the friendliness, the camaraderie. Being an omega with Reginnvaldr’s clan was hardly a thought after a few scant months; years of shame and conditioning surprisingly easy to move past when surrounded by constant support. But Eyesteinn reminded him of his dynamic at every turn, dredged up the old shame, the old <em>guilt</em> somehow associated with being someone who could bear children.</p><p>    He was thankfully saved from having to come up with a conversation when Geoff caught his eye and noticed the stressed expression on Gavin’s face. He winked and stood confidently.</p><p>    “Reginnvaldr, tell us a story! Tell us a story!” Geoff slurred ‘drunkenly’. Gavin noticed he never drank and that Jack often brewed him a strong tea in place of alcohol, but he was an exceptionally talented actor and Gavin would bet his left shoe that Eyesteinn wouldn’t be able to catch the lie.</p><p>    Cheers and agreement rose from the occupants of Reginnvaldr’s table and it sounded like the other table began cheering in general excitement despite likely not hearing Geoff. Reginnvaldr rolled his eyes at the shenanigans. Gavin, however, saw the cleverness of the plan; if Reginnvaldr could spend time telling a story, it left less time during their supper to offend Eyesteinn.</p><p>    “Listen, no one wants to hear a story,” Reginnvaldr paused. “At least not at this level of sobriety.”</p><p>    “Come on, Reginnvaldr!” Cried Geoff in apparent dismay, but Gavin could see the mischief in his eyes and the cracking of his voice indicated he was moments from a laughing fit. “Your lovely <em>Gavin</em> hasn’t even heard your stories yet!”</p><p>    “Y’know he’s right,” Gavin said, turning to Reginnvaldr and batting his eyes teasingly. “All this time and you haven’t even told me your stories yet. ’S not fair, is it?”</p><p>    With a world-weary sigh, Reginnvaldr placed his hands on the table and pushed himself up with the air of a man with far too great a burden to bear. The cheers died down as he stood though the air still crackled in excitement. Geoff returned to his seat and leaned around his mates to send Gavin a wink and goofy face. </p><p>    “Well, Gavin as I’m doing this entirely for you,” Reginnvaldr rolled his eyes again. “It seems fitting you should choose the story.”</p><p>    Gavin bit his lip in concentration and thought back to the countless tales he’d heard mention of: Reginnvaldr’s siege of Paris, the great battles his Volsung ancestors fought, the countless stories of the Æsir and their feats. One in particular stuck out though, one that Gavin still had a hard time believing despite giving the benefit of the doubt to multiple gods ruling the earth and the mythic origins of his mate.</p><p>    “Tell me about your father and the dragon?” Gavin asked maybe a touch too eagerly. “It’s been bloody <em>ages</em> and still no one’s told me a damn thing about it!”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr chuckled and Gavin couldn’t help but beam back. The excitement in the hall was nearly suffocating; it seemed this story was a clan favorite. Even Eyesteinn’s sour countenance couldn’t bring down the mood.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr moved from his place to the center of the room, ostensibly for the other half of the room to better hear his story. Gavin didn’t want to be that far, however, and without even looking at Jack to see if his actions were acceptable, Gavin rose from his seat and strode to Reginnvaldr, plopping down on the stone floor in front of him. Thankfully, the stones were warm from the fire and both his bare feet and his backside were saved from a chill.</p><p>    No protest was made at his action and Gavin swore he could hear Meg give an ‘aww’ from the high table much to his embarrassment. At least Reginnvaldr didn’t make a big deal out of it, only running his hand through Gavin’s hair once to acknowledge him.</p><p>    “This is the tale of my father, Ragnar Loðbrók, and the dragon:</p><p>    “<em>Many years ago, when my father was but a boy of fifteen, sword yet clean of blood, face yet clean of age. He heard word of a jarl Herruð from Götland. Herruð had a beautiful daughter named Thóra, and like the Ás she was named for, she was courageous and brave. She was called Town-Doe by the village for her beauty was said to exceed all other women, just as the doe’s beauty exceeds all other animals. But too, is the doe quick, clever and brave. This was true of Thóra, and Herruð, rightly so, loved his daughter dearly. </em></p><p>
  <em>    “It came that he built her a little house, just near his hall, with a little fence around it. He loved her so dearly that every day he sent her gifts and trinkets, little baubles to pass the time. Like all fathers are wont to do, he spoiled his daughter.”</em>
</p><p>    Gavin felt his heart flutter slightly at that. Reginnvaldr would be a good father, he was sure of it, and that knowledge made his heart skip and stomach twist. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it all and decided that was a problem to look at later when Reginnvaldr’s smooth voice wasn’t illustrating the most captivating story Gavin could recall hearing.</p><p>    “<em>It is told one day that Herruð had a small dragon, and that he gifted it to his beautiful daughter, for a woman as beautiful and fierce as her deserved a pet that could match her in appearance and temperament. She kept the creature in a small chest filled with gold for it’s known that dragons sleep best when surrounded by gold.</em></p><p>
  <em>    “The dragon grew and grew, and before long it outgrew the chest in which it nested. Thóra moved the creature from its chest and let it wander free throughout her little house for the dragon was just like her and shouldn’t be locked away somewhere too small. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “Soon, though, the dragon was much too big for the little house. It wouldn’t stop growing, and neither would the gold on which it first rested. And so, much too big to stay inside, it began circling outside the house as well, weaving in through the doors and windows. Thóra was scarcely able to move, the gold and the serpent filled every nook and cranny of the house. She was trapped, suffocated by gold and dragon, buried beneath their weight and forced to scale and climb for hours to move but a few feet.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “Just as dragons should not be locked away, neither should Thóra, for she was a courageous woman and much too bold to be kept away by her once-pet. No one dared to come near the house for fear of the dragon excepting the man tasked to feed it. It required a whole steer for every meal and it caused strain on Herruð. Everyone knows a dragon will devour a steer, and they know it to be a gruesome affair.</em>
</p><p>    “<em>So Herruð sent out word of this and promised both his beloved daughter and all the gold in her house to whoever could kill the dragon. </em></p><p>
  <em>    “At this time, here in Jutland so many miles away, my father Ragnar received news of Herruð and Thóra and the dragon that circled the house. Ragnar was a big man, handsome, and well-provided with wisdom. He was also a good man, caring to his men and his clan, and cruel to his enemies. </em>
</p><p><em>    “When he heard of the dragon, he made no move to leave Jutland for several weeks and acted like he hadn’t heard the news at all. Ragnar was wise and knew rushing would only serve to tempt fate. He did, however, in the following weeks, order some very strange clothes made. A pair of shaggy fur pants and a shaggy cloak, both of which he boiled in pitch and tar.</em>”</p><p>    “Why would he do such a thing!” yelled Jerbjorn from the other table and laughter broke out. Gavin was under the impression that this was a relatively common experience when a response of “Because he’s Ragnar Loðbrok!” rang out.</p><p>    “<em>So </em>because <em>he’s Ragnar Loðbrok,</em>” continued Reginnvaldr with a smile. “<em>He boiled</em> <em>his clothes in pitch and put them away. Summers passed and though many had tried, Thóra was still trapped in her little house and the dragon still circled the house and the gold still grew until it was spilling from the roof and bursting out the walls. </em></p><p><em>    “And eventually, Ragnar sailed with his most trusted men to Götland and set up his ship and camp in a hidden fjord near Herruð’s hall. He didn’t want to be there as the son of Sigurð Ring—king of Jutland— he wanted to be there as himself. He wanted to prove himself beyond the strength of his father.</em>”</p><p>    “Something we should all strive for,” muttered Eyesteinn. Gavin shot a brief glare towards him but refocused on Reginnvaldr, who ignored the man entirely.</p><p>    “<em>So he woke early one morning and donned those pitch clothes and rolled around in the sand on the fjord shore.”</em></p><p><em>    “</em>They ought’ta call him Ragnar Sand-in-his-pants!” Hollered Geoff, and even Reginnvaldr had to take a moment to compose his own laughter. It was then that the vocabulary making up Ragnar’s name finally clicked for Gavin. <em>Loðbrok</em>. Shaggy-Pants. Ragnar Shaggy-Pants. </p><p>    What a name.</p><p>    “<em>So Ragnar left the shore and took the nail from his spear that held the shaft to the point. Everyone was still sleeping save for Ragnar and the stars. The moon was dipping lower but the sun had yet to wake and it was then that Ragnar headed for Herruð’s hall and Thóra’s little house.</em></p><p>
  <em>    “The dragon had grown even larger, and no one had seen anything like it at all. It was so large that it brushed against Herruð’s hall as it circled, knocking splinters and dust from the frame as it moved. Ragnar approached it with no fear. He leapt over the house fence and stabbed the dragon. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “The dragon roared terribly and circled to face Ragnar, snapping its terrible teeth and fixing him with those terrible eyes. It went to strike but Ragnar was too fast. All great warriors know it’s better to be quick than strong, for even the strongest cannot endure what the quickest can evade.”</em>
</p><p>Eyesteinn snorted in disbelief but Gavin’s attention was still firmly on Reginnvaldr. His eyes lit up when performing like this, his voice boomed dramatically; lambasting his attentive audience with the magic pouring from his lips. Gavin could get lost in that voice, in those stories. He wondered if he would be able to fall asleep to Reginnvaldr’s stories, or if he’d be too captivated by the performance.</p><p>    “<em>And so Ragnar stabbed the dragon again, this time in the back, and twisted his spear so swiftly that the spearhead came loose from the shaft. He was clever in taking that nail from the spear, for now the dragon’s every movement tugged on the spearhead and worked it deeper into its flesh.</em></p><p>
  <em>    “The dragon died quickly for Ragnar was an accomplished warrior. The sounds it let loose upon its death were so great that it rattled the little house, shaking it from its foundations like it was naught but a ship at sea. Great drops of blood spilled from the dragon and scorched the ground where they landed and even to this day nothing grows on those patches of dead earth.</em>
</p><p><em>    “As Ragnar left, a splash of blood hit him between the shoulders,</em>” Reginnvaldr paused for dramatic effect, eyes twinkling merrily as he fixed members of the audience with his gaze. He stared at Gavin directly and grinned.</p><p>    “Blood between the shoulders!” cried Gavin, emboldened by Reginnvaldr’s glee. He could hear Geoff’s telltale laughter ring out at his interruption. “That must have <em>bloody</em> hurt!” </p><p>    A look of dramatic betrayal crossed Reginnvaldr’s face at the pun and he slapped a hand to his chest as though it physically hurt him. “That was <em>awful,</em>” he said, groaning. “That was so bad!”</p><p>    “Get on with it!” yelled Meg.</p><p>    “Okay, okay! <em>So a splash of blood hit Ragnar right between the shoulders, but instead of melting skin from flesh, instead of scorching him down to bones, it dripped off like water. His pitch clothing had saved him.</em></p><p>
  <em>    “Then he went away, and just before he left, Thóra stopped him with a call, asking what his name was. He stopped but did not turn to her and spoke this poem:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>        “Beautiful woman,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>        I have honorably risked</em>
</p><p>
  <em>        my life, fifteen years old,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>        to fight the serpent.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>        I would be dead</em>
</p><p>
  <em>        from the snake’s bite</em>
</p><p>
  <em>        if my spear had not bitten</em>
</p><p>
  <em>        the viper’s heart sooner.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “And then he left and said nothing more. When Thóra heard his poem, she understood what he’d done and how old he was. She couldn’t even tell if he was human or not so great was his feat. It seemed that someone of his size, of his age, of his ability, must be something else.”</em>
</p><p>“Like a monster,” muttered Eyesteinn. Gavin stiffened at the words but a hand running through his hair stopped him from lashing out. He let out a quiet sigh and nudged Reginnvaldr’s hand with his head. </p><p>    “<em>The next morning, everyone saw what had become of the terrible dragon, wounded and dead by the spearpoint embedded in its flesh. Herruð ordered the spearhead removed—it was so large that few men could have wielded it and he knew it would help them find the warrior responsible.</em></p><p>
  <em>    “They called for a great meeting to find the man who slew the dragon. And Thóra said they should find the warrior who’s spearshaft fit the spearhead. Ragnar and all of his men went to this meeting and saw a great crowd was gathered there, as was to be expected when a feat as impressive as a slain dragon is announced.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “Herruð explained the found spearhead and ordered it passed around each warrior gathered to find its matching spearshaft. Man after man presented their spear, but the head was so great that it cracked every spearshaft it rested upon. No one could properly hold the point, let alone attach it to their spear.</em>
</p><p><em>    “When Herruð’s men came to Ragnar, he admitted it was his and fastened it easily to his spearshaft, securing it with that nail he removed. It fit perfectly and Ragnar wielded the spear with ease.</em>”</p><p>    “Bet you could handle Gavin’s spear with ease!” came a cackling yell from someone. Gavin twisted his head around to find Lindsay with a mirthful expression and alcohol-red cheeks. He fought hard not to blush, but by the heat in his face he assumed he was unsuccessful. He turned back to Reginnvaldr and bent his head slightly, only peeking up at him through his lashes.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr rumbled an alpha purr and ran his hand through Gavin’s hair again. Gavin almost wondered how coy he could be before Reginnvaldr ran out of patience. He almost wanted to find out.</p><p>    “<em>And so Thóra and Ragnar were wed and mated. They had two sons, my step-brothers Eirek and Agnar, and lived happily until sickness befell Thóra and Freyja took her to Fólkvangr. Years later Ragnar met my mother Áslaug and the rest is history.</em>”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr finished his story with a flourish of his hand and a dramatic bow. Cheers filled the hall at his ending and cries of “<em>Skål</em>!” rang out. Gavin assumed it was some sort of appreciation for the story. The clapping was deafening echoing off the stone walls and Gavin couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Reginnvaldr was made to be an actor, he thought, so full of life and exuberance, so comfortable telling stories and putting on shows.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr helped Gavin back to his feet, and he couldn’t resist leaning into him slightly as he was led back to the table. He wanted to hear more of Reginnvaldr’s stories. Stories of his family, sure, but Gavin was more interested in stories of the man himself now that his curiosity about Ragnar and the dragon was fulfilled. </p><p>    “So, Gavin, are your doubts about Ragnar Loðbrok and his dragon quieted?” teased Jack when they settled back in their seats.</p><p>    “Well I still haven’t seen a dragon myself so…” He let himself trail off before shaking his head. “But I suppose I’m as convinced as I can be without seeing one.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr laughed and nuzzled the side of Gavin’s face. “You indulge me, <em>kærr</em>.” He froze a bit after he said that word and though Gavin tried to figure out the meaning, he couldn’t remember ever hearing it before. He smirked as he glanced at Reginnvaldr’s uncomfortable, mildly panicked expression. That would be yet another amusing conversation to have later.</p><p>    The night continued without much more excitement. Though Gavin did see Jerbjorn spill mead all over his mate and then saw his mate hug him tight in retaliation. Gavin thought Jerbjorn’s shriek and complaints about the stickiness could be heard from <em>Rome</em> they were so loud.</p><p>    Though Gavin tempered himself on the mead, he still grew incredibly sleepy far faster than he would have liked. The stress from the day was getting to him and he couldn’t wait to fall into his soft bed. A glance to Reginnvaldr, who was deep in conversation with Eyesteinn about trade among the various clans in <em>Jutland</em>, informed Gavin it would be several more hours at least until they could retire. He huffed in annoyance and leaned on the table. </p><p>    Eyesteinn’s omega still sat hunched in on herself like she was trying to hide; head down, shoulders turned inwards, eyes dull and focused on nothing. Gavin softened looking at her. She’d been essentially ignored by Eyesteinn the entire evening and the one time Gavin himself tried talking to her she seemed too spooked to reply. Well, if the alphas were going to keep jabbering, he might as well see if she had anything to say.</p><p>    “I could go for something sweet now,” Gavin said quietly, leaning closer to the girl and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “All that salt is just too much, y’know? I’d like this honey nut thing Lindsay makes. Oh, Lindsay is, uh, Hla-eth-ger-ethr? Bollocks— I still can’t pronounce it, but she’s the one over there.” Gavin pointed towards the woman in question, who was currently trying to catch grapes in her mouth tossed from cheering onlookers. “She makes it the best. It’s like a bunch of nuts on a slice of bread and with loads of honey on top. It’s pretty great.”</p><p>    The omegean girl didn’t say anything in reply, but her dull eyes met his and Gavin counted that enough of a win. He was reluctant to rise from the table to find something sweet as he wasn’t sure how acceptable that might be according to tradition. Gods the stress of constantly acting as proper as possible was exhausting. It reminded him too much of Castle Bamburgh and when he second guessed every move so as to ensure his beta cover was maintained. </p><p>    “Can’t be getting too bev’ed up right now. Otherwise I’d be drinking this mead like mad because it’s really good. Must be a nicely aged batch or something.”</p><p>    “Bev’ed?” Her voice was so small and cracked. It made Gavin’s heart hurt but he smiled wide anyways. </p><p>    “Bev’ed. Y’know, like. On it. Damn what’s the word?” Gavin groaned. “When you drink too much mead. And you get all foggy and sleepy and stuff.”</p><p>    “Oh,” she blinked once and Gavin tried to make his smile more reassuring. “I, uh, think you mean drunk.”</p><p>    Gavin let out a quiet chuckle. “I do mean drunk, but bev’ed is more fun to say, innit?”</p><p>    She shrugged and brought up a hand to rub at the uncomfortable looking collar. Gavin frowned at it. It was so coarse and awful looking, nothing at all like the posh velvet collars he remembered seeing in court at Castle Bamburgh or the lovely woven chains the norsemen favored or even the few more traditional collars of buttery leather he’d seen worn in Reginnvaldr’s clan. </p><p>    “You don’t speak like you’re from around here,” she finally said. </p><p>    “Well, I am now. But I was originally from Bamburgh in Northumbria. A bit uh, south and west of here. Explains the accent doesn’t it?”</p><p>    She nodded, expression less guarded than before. He tried not to let his calm exterior shift and display how happy he was that she was warming up.</p><p>    “I’m Gavin, by the way. I know there’s the whole omega of this alpha and that alpha or whatever, but it’s a mouthful to keep calling me Reginnvaldr-Fœða.”</p><p>    She shifted a bit in her seat and snuck a hasty glance to Eyesteinn. When she saw he was still occupied with Reginnvaldr and their apparently riveting conversation about trade, she looked back to Gavin. “Ita,” she said. “My name is Ita. But I’m called <em>Groðkona</em> here.”</p><p>    <em>Groðkona</em>, serving-woman. Gavin’s heart ached. This girl, face too young and bones far too prominent, clad in painful hide and little else against the chill of the north. She was nothing more than a <em>serving-woman</em> to Eyesteinn, and he didn’t want to think too closely about what type of serving she was accustomed to doing.  </p><p>    “Ita,” Gavin said. “That’s a lovely name. And very easy to pronounce which is always a good thing here. I’m pretty bollocks at the language here.”</p><p>    Ita was quiet for a moment, and studiously examined her nails when she replied. “I am too.”</p><p>    “Too?” Gavin pressed gently. He didn’t want to frighten the girl but those few words shocked him. Barring Geoff and perhaps Jack, he hadn’t met anyone here who wasn’t from Jutland. And even then, Jack only half counted what with being from another northern land.</p><p>    “Yes,” Ita’s voice was at a whisper now and Gavin had to strain to hear it. “It’s not common in <em>Ériu</em>.”</p><p>    Gavin frowned, trying to remember where he’d heard that word before. He studied her appearance while he thought, trying to see beyond the obvious neglect and mistreatment. Pale skin dotted with freckles, full lips, ginger-red hair that might have been lush were it not so frizzy and ill-kept. Those grey eyes.</p><p>    “Bloody hell!” Gavin exclaimed just as softly so as to not draw the attention of the alphas. “You’re from that druid place to the west. You call that <em>Ériu</em>? Christ, how’d you get from there to here?”</p><p>    She looked at him with those dull eyes, so tightly drawn with exhaustion, framed by too-sharp cheekbones. “The same as you. Taken.”</p><p>    He felt as though the air had been punched out of him. His immediate instinct was to protest, to tell her that they weren’t the same. That he was here because he wanted to be. But that wasn’t true, was it? No, Gavin was here at the mercy of the northmen just as Ita was.</p><p>    “No. No, I— I don’t have that kind of collar,” Gavin stuttered. He didn’t just mean her physical collar, but her collar as an omega captive at the hands of an alpha. An omega without the means to fight back, to determine for herself what her life would be.</p><p>    “You don’t <em>not</em> have it,” she said, and Gavin could tell that she too meant more than the heavy chain of gold lying across his clavicle. </p><p>    “I’m happy here,” Gavin said. He couldn’t tell if he was trying to convince her or if he was stating fact. Just a few minutes ago he would have easily proclaimed it true. Now he wasn’t so sure.</p><p>    “Can you <em>leave</em>?” Ita pressed, eyes just as dull in color, but wild now, flickering about Gavin’s person like she could see shackles. “Can you take one of those horses and ride? Can you hold an axe, a sword? Can you <em>kill</em>?”    </p><p>    Gavin was too stunned to reply. This conversation had taken a bizarre turn from asking her name and rambling about sweets to debating his relative freedom. Ita took his silence as answer enough.</p><p>    “Then you’re not free,” she said. She gave a wan smile but her eyes were sad, glazed over like she was trying not to cry. “I’m sorry for breaking the illusion.”</p><p>    He couldn’t believe what she was saying, he didn’t <em>want</em> to believe it. He was free, wasn’t he? He may have been part of a peace treaty, but Reginnvaldr didn’t keep him chained to the bed, he didn’t have him bouncing on his knot at every turn, for fuck’s sake he’d been sleeping on the floor for the past four months for Gavin’s comfort! But even still, Gavin couldn’t ignore what Ita said. Was this merely a gilded cage? </p><p>    “<em>Fœða</em> we’re going to retire,” Eyesteinn interrupted both their conversation and Gavin’s racing thoughts, pulling Ita to her feet. He looked a fair bit drunker than when Gavin had last seen him. “And you’re going to work.” He huffed a raspy laugh and slapped her backside, a loud smack sounding and not quite covering Ita’s whimper. “Reginnvaldr, we’ll see you in the morn, and hopefully we can work this whole nonsense out.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr’s eyes hardened when Eyesteinn smacked Ita, but he quickly composed himself. He smiled blandly and stood. “Of course, Eyesteinn. I look forward to it.” Reginnvaldr’s voice was so smooth, so steady. “Can I show you to the guest room we’ve arranged for you?”</p><p>    “Pah! I don’t need that kind of stuffy shite,” Eyesteinn huffed. “We’ll be outside in that field so we don’t keep you up with our fun. Isn’t that right, little <em>Groðkona</em>?”</p><p>    “Very well,” Reginnvaldr said and Gavin could hear how weary he was. “We wish you a pleasant evening. We’ll reconvene after noon?”</p><p>    Eyesteinn snorted and waved a hand towards Reginnvaldr and stumbled his way towards the door, a hand dragging Ita along. It wasn’t much longer before all his assorted entourage followed. </p><p>    Gavin let an audible sigh out when the last of Eyesteinn’s men exited. He wasn’t the only one; it felt like the entire room relaxed and shook off the stiff presentation they’d donned for the temperamental man.</p><p>    “That was fucking horseshit,” came Mǫgr’s rough voice. Gavin hadn’t heard him talk much—he hadn’t really gotten over his fear of the prickly warrior—but when he did, it seemed he had at least one curse in every sentence. </p><p>    A chorus of laughter rang out at that and even Reginnvaldr cracked a smile on his exhausted face. Gavin much preferred that real, tired smile to the mild, polite one he had with Eyesteinn. He reached out to touch Reginnvaldr’s arm reassuringly but stopped half way and let his hand drop back down. Ita’s words were still far too prominent in his mind, rattling his instincts and sending cracks all through the comfort he had settled into.</p><p>    “Alright, it’s time for Gavin and I to retire,” Reginnvaldr announced. “Jakaupr, Mjǫll, Trausti, be ready to meet at dawn to discuss our negotiation strategy for the Sibilja clan tomorrow, Óðinn knows we’re going to need all the time we can get.” Meg giggled from her seat at that. “Hlaðgerðr, after you tell your apprentices to clean, tell them they get a late start tomorrow. We did good tonight.”</p><p>    Without another word, Reginnvaldr extended his hand to Gavin to help him up. Though Gavin wasn’t sure if he should want to accept the hand, he did anyways because <em>gods</em> was he tired and he wasn’t proud enough to refuse the help. The two walked in silence back to their chambers and once inside, the silence turned from amicable but exhausted to nervous.</p><p>    “Gavin,” Reginnvaldr said. He let go of his hand to wring his own. “Eyesteinn said something today that has me worried. He-he doesn’t… he doesn’t respect things that you and I do.” </p><p>    “Yeah, I could tell.” Gavin said, thinking of Ita. “That poor girl.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr paused in his disrobing. “Yes, she didn’t seem very happy.” Understatement. “But that’s not actually what I meant. Eyesteinn, today, he said—well, he knows that we haven’t mated.”</p><p>    Gavin froze, his whole body tensing. God, Ita had warned him about this, about how long he would have until his relative freedom was stripped and burned like the monastery at Lindisfarne those few years ago. </p><p>    “I don’t mean like that!” Reginnvaldr was quick to correct, nearly stumbling over his words in an attempt to get them out as fast as possible. “We don’t have—we never have to. I just think it’d be a groo—a good idea if we smell like each other.” Gavin blinked once at that but slowly let his body relax from its fight or flight stance. “Not… not mate, never mate. Just scent.”</p><p>    “Did you almost say ‘grood’ instead of ‘good’?” Gavin asked with disbelief. This confident alpha king who could perform leagues of poetry and story-telling without missing a beat flubbed his words. Despite the importance of the rest of what Reginnvaldr said registering, Gavin couldn’t help but fixate on the flub. <em>Grood</em>.</p><p>    “I—<em>that’s</em> what you’re focusing on right now?!” Reginnvaldr said, voice rising in bewilderment. </p><p>    “Well it’s just surprising, seeing that you’re this great leader and all and told this huge long story about your father and can’t even say the word <em>good</em>.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr laughed self-deprecatingly and held his hands up in mock defense. “Please stop assaulting my poor grasp of language and tell me if I should be begging for forgiveness at my suggestion or not?” He gave a half grimace half hesitant smile and Gavin sighed, finally deciding to acknowledge the rest of what Reginnvaldr had said.</p><p>    It wouldn’t be the end of the world if he and Reginnvaldr scented somehow. Scent transferred relatively easily, he could even just wear some of Reginnvaldr’s clothes for the night and wake up smelling like him. Of course it’d be more difficult for Reginnvaldr seeing as he was much taller and much broader than Gavin and cuddling with his clothing for the night wasn’t liable to give Reginnvaldr much of his scent at all. And then there was the whole conversation with Ita running through his mind.</p><p>    “How would this work?” he finally asked, keeping his voice neutral. </p><p><em>    “</em>However you want it to work,” Reginnvaldr said. “We could sleep in the bed together, that would probably give the most scent because of the sweat and proximity.” Gavin’s eyes widened and something that could either be terror or excitement fluttered in his stomach; memories of both Ita’s pain and of Reginnvaldr kissing his palm bubbling up. Reginnvaldr noticed the look immediately. “We absolutely do not have to do that, ever,” he reassured. “We never have to ever share a bed, even just to sleep. No-no bed.” He ran a hand through that sandy hair.</p><p>    “What’s the next best thing?” Gavin said. </p><p>    “Probably scenting. We don’t have to scent like—like <em>mates</em> do. We can just do it, uh, politely.”</p><p>    There wasn’t a such thing as polite scenting, Gavin thought, and said as much.</p><p>    “There isn’t a such thing as polite scenting,” he said. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr huffed in response and rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re right.” He left it at that and made worried eye contact with Gavin, leaving it up to him whether this was something he could agree to.</p><p>    The image of Ita’s neck rubbed raw and her tearful eyes when Eyesteinn yanked her hair flashed in Gavin’s mind. Was it really up to him?</p><p>    “Val,” he said. “Can I learn to fight? I want to hold a sword, Val.”</p><p>    “…What?” Reginnvaldr asked, taken aback. He didn’t sound angry though, just surprised. “What does that have to do with anything? We need to talk about our scents, Gavin.”</p><p>    “No, we need to talk about this now,” Gavin replied stubbornly. He frowned and stared pointedly at Reginnvaldr, careful not to make eye contact and stare at the area between his eyes instead, lest he be sucked into yet another magnetic staring contest. Balled fists came up to rest on his hips. He was the perfect picture of adamancy.</p><p>    “I, wh- yes, yes of course you can learn to fight. Where did this come from?”</p><p>    Gavin felt his stomach unknot, but he didn’t let his shoulders relax and kept his stance. He needed to make sure. “Can I have a sword?” </p><p>    Reginnvaldr looked absolutely bewildered, like he was strapped to a galloping horse in this conversation with no control over where it was going or why he was strapped to it in the first place. “Yes? Though you might want to start with a hand axe until you work up the muscle? And until we can make you a sword.”</p><p>That was good, Gavin thought. He could learn to fight, he could hold a sword, he wasn’t being kept demure. He had that allowance at least. But it was useless if he couldn’t do anything with a sword and his strength.</p><p>    “Can I <em>kill</em>?”</p><p>    The only sound in the room was the crackling of fire over candlewick. Gavin’s own heartbeat was stronger than the charge of horse hooves over stone and his breath loud, heavy. </p><p>    “Do you need to?” Reginnvaldr said at last, face now a mixture of bewilderment and worry. His scent flared, all protectiveness and concern. “Who do you need to kill, Gavin? What happened?”</p><p>    The worry was flattering and Gavin felt himself calming against his will, omegean instinct relaxing into the comforting scent of his alpha’s protectiveness. He didn’t let himself grow drunk on it though, and grit his teeth. He had to <em>know</em>.</p><p>    “Can I kill?” he asked, voice low and while it was relatively steady, a current of desperation ran through it. Reginnvaldr made an aborted motion with his hands like he wanted to comfort Gavin, to sweep him into those strong arms and protect him, but Gavin took another step back, shaking his head.</p><p>    “Yes, if you need to, yes,” Reginnvaldr said, bewilderment fleeing his face entirely for worry. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, still partially outstretched as they were. They finally dropped to his sides, dangling awkwardly, useless. “Yes, you can kill.” Reginnvaldr took a deep breath as if to say more but shut his mouth instead and exhaled through his nose instead, worrying his lips against themselves.</p><p>    Gavin let out an exhale of his own, the air sharply fleeing his lungs and out his mouth. It was both reassuring and terrifying to know he was allowed to, that he had <em>permission</em> to kill. Reassuring in that he had at least some degree of power. Terrifying in the knowledge that that power was entirely dependent on his alpha. What would happen if, <em>when</em>, it was decided that power was no longer his?</p><p>    He almost lost himself in that spiral of thought, but thankfully Reginnvaldr’s worried scent became too overwhelming and Gavin refocused back on the present. He needed to make a decision about the scent. As odd as he felt about the whole idea, Reginnvaldr was right and Eyesteinn knowing they hadn’t mated put a hole in the middle of their facade. How strong and stable can a clan be if their king and his omega haven’t even mated? They were a much more promising target without a wholly unified front and Gavin didn’t want to be— <em>couldn’t</em> be— the reason Eyesteinn finally decided to attack.</p><p>    “Alright, get over here and scent me,” he said. He walked over to the bed, yanked off his shoes and climbed to sit cross-legged near the bed’s middle. Gavin didn’t trust his legs to remember they were legs once the scenting started because despite the uncertainty and fear Ita had brought to Gavin tonight, Reginnvaldr’s scent still affected him a staggering amount.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr shuffled towards Gavin slowly like he was trying not to startle a particularly nervous horse. After about ten seconds of Reginnvaldr barely halfway to the bed, Gavin let out an annoyed groan.</p><p>    “Gods, could you <em>go</em> any slower? Come <em>on</em> Reginnvaldr, you’re just making this weirder.”</p><p>    With a sigh, Reginnvaldr crossed the remaining distance in barely a second and perched carefully at the edge of the bed, still respectably far from Gavin, who opened his mouth to complain. Any thoughts, however, promptly flew out his ears when their eyes connected. Gavin hoped he’d eventually get over how Reginnvaldr’s eyes put him into a trance and how his heart stuttered and his world narrowed down to just the two of them because he couldn’t imagine the annoyance he’d feel if Reginnvaldr caught his eye while he was cooking and he ended up burning supper because of their weird staring thing.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr leaned towards Gavin slightly and then stopped, torso reclined appealingly but legs still off the side of the bed. Waiting for me to move, Gavin realized. He’s waiting for me. </p><p>    Well, they couldn’t scent if they weren’t closer.</p><p>    Slowly, almost as slowly as Reginnvaldr had been moving across the floor, Gavin leaned closer until they were mere inches apart and he could feel Reginnvaldr’s breath on his face. Reginnvaldr was a sight like this, Gavin thought in a near daze. Mouth open slightly, light hair brushed with gold from the candles, eyes hooded and illuminated with candlelight just slightly too dim to show the snake-like discoloration in his eye.    </p><p>    Out of the corner of his eye, Gavin saw Reginnvaldr bring his hand up and brush the long hair aside from Gavin’s ear. He leaned in closer and Gavin could feel the lighting under his skin when Reginnvaldr brushed his nose against Gavin’s scent gland, at the edge of his jaw and behind his ear. </p><p>    Wordlessly, Gavin shifted closer and readjusted his crossed legs so that he was sitting on his feet and allowing Reginnvaldr better access. Reginnvaldr hummed in appreciation and Gavin could <em>feel</em> the sound. He could feel Reginnvaldr’s breath coming out in little strained puffs, his heartbeat thundering just as rapidly as Gavin’s own where his hand touched Gavin's skin.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr brought his other hand up from where it had been supporting his recline and pressed his wrist to Gavin’s own, threading their fingers together as he did so. The smaller scent glands in his wrist wouldn’t do as much but it would help. Somehow their touching wrists felt just as intimate as Reginnvaldr’s breath on his neck, the thin skin tingling with sensation. </p><p>    “Gavin—” Reginnvaldr breathed and Gavin couldn’t bear to hear what he wanted to say. </p><p>    “Do it, Val,” he whispered back and exhaled shakily when Reginnvaldr rubbed his nose along Gavin’s neck. He could hear the other inhaling deeply, like he couldn’t get enough of Gavin’s scent. Reginnvaldr started a disjointed purr, his jittery inhales breaking the purr up into segments, like he couldn’t even purr properly he was so wrapped up in Gavin’s scent. Gavin tried not to feel too giddy at the idea.</p><p>    Lips, softer than sunlight and twice as warm brushed over his skin and Gavin’s breath stuttered, his eyes fluttered shut. His hands lifted without conscious decision and came to gently rest on Reginnvaldr’s shoulders. Gavin pushed his hands under the shaggy tar cloak and snaked in to cup Reginnvaldr’s shoulders under his clothing. Gods, Gavin could feel the life rushing under Reginnvaldr’s skin, dancing like fire under his fingertips. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr’s hand, now free from touching wrists with Gavin, crept up to hold the side of Gavin’s face, a gesture so tender and gentle Gavin couldn’t help but whine. Those hands, so rough with work and hardship were immeasurably soft on his cheek. Gavin thought the entire world might be spinning out from under him and that Reginnvaldr’s hands were the only thing keeping him upright. </p><p>    Little teasing nuzzles scratched at his skin. Reginnvaldr’s beard was softer than it looked but long enough to rub in little prickling feelings as he scented Gavin. The nimble fingers holding his hair back fell down to caress Gavin’s neck, eventually settling at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, right where his mating bite would go. The shock he felt at that intimate skin to skin contact jolted through Gavin sharply and he sucked in a shaky breath to try and steady himself. Reginnvaldr’s chin moved from its place behind his ear to in front of it, his beard ticking Gavin’s jaw now as he rubbed the other side of his face with Gavin’s scent.</p><p>    Those dangerous lips dragged softly over his own bit of scruff and Gavin felt his mouth open, begging for something. Their breath mingled hot and Gavin opened his eyes—when had he closed them?— to gaze at Reginnvaldr. His eyes were almost closed themselves, only the smallest sliver of pupil and color showing. When he saw Gavin staring, those hooded eyes fixed themselves upon him. His cheeks were pink, his mouth similarly open to Gavin’s, he looked like a man <em>wanting</em>.</p><p>    Gavin inhaled shakily. “Val…” he whispered. Now was not the time for anything stronger, and Gavin wasn’t even sure he <em>could</em> speak louder. “Val…”</p><p>    “Gavin,” Reginnvaldr whispered back, voice raspy and labored like he hadn’t spoken in years, like he could only now remember how and only for Gavin. “My Gavin.”</p><p>    Pleasure, like hot mead, shot through Gavin and settled itself in his chest. Little purrs of happiness coming from his omegean instincts sounded at the possessive words. The hand on his neck tightened the slightest bit and Gavin tilted his head farther back, baring his neck to his alpha. Submitting. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr turned his nose back to Gavin’s neck and nuzzled. He let his lips drag over his neck and then, so softly that Gavin could barely tell the difference, he let his teeth graze over the delicate skin. Gods above, the feeling was unlike anything Gavin had ever felt before. He was lightheaded. He was floating.</p><p>    The teeth retreated as quickly as they presented and Gavin keened loudly at the loss. Reginnvaldr shushed him gently and Gavin could feel him begin rubbing his chin over Gavin’s neck, to coat himself in Gavin’s scent. </p><p>    It was much too quickly that Reginnvaldr pulled away and yet Gavin wasn’t sure how much longer he could have contained himself had Reginnvaldr <em>not</em> pulled away. He was both floating, world spinning from underneath him in a dizzying mess, and wanting, no, <em>needing</em> Reginnvaldr’s body to keep giving him that feeling, to be his only stable point in that storm of scent and emotion. </p><p>    He looked <em>wrecked</em>. Reginnvaldr’s lips were ruddy and looked raw, like he’d had to bite them in restraint. He was flushed all over, blush extending past his neck and down to the strip of flesh visible before his tunic. Hooded eyes fluttered and an open mouth panted. Gavin wanted to <em>taste</em> him.</p><p>    “Go,” Reginnvaldr breathed. “Go on, Gavin. Scent me.”</p><p>    He needed no other invitation.</p><p>    Gavin put both his hands on Reginnvaldr’s shoulders to steady himself as best he could and practically crawled into Reginnvaldr’s lap. He ignored the tiny voice of embarrassment in the back of his head that tried to fight through his euphoric fog, and straddled Reginnvaldr, letting his long legs bend at Reginnvaldr’s hips and squeeze tight because even his legs didn’t want to let him go. Gavin’s hands clenched hard at the tar cloak and he tried to yank it over Reginnvaldr’s head. When it proved still clasped, Gavin whined and Reginnvaldr was quick to undo the cloak properly, revealing his broad shoulders.</p><p>    Gavin tugged Reginnvaldr’s tunic as far down as he could with one hand and wound the other through Reginnvaldr’s sandy hair. His lips found Reginnvaldr’s neck and he pressed a firm kiss to the thin skin hiding his scent. He felt electric, jittery and like everything around him was moving too slowly. Gavin wanted to squirm, to feel just how hot Reginnvaldr’s skin was, to crawl inside him and never leave. The sweet wood and campfire smoke scent engulfed him and Gavin took deep, shuddering breaths to try and absorb as much of the scent as possible. </p><p>    He registered a hand rubbing his back, another lightly holding his waist and Gavin yearned for something <em>more</em>. He rubbed his cheek against Reginnvaldr’s neck, determined to smell like him, to smell like his mate. They would smell like each other and everyone, <em>everyone</em> would be able to tell they belonged to each other. Gavin yanked harder on Reginnvaldr’s nice tunic and distantly heard the quiet rip of fabric but it was drastically overpowered by the sound of Reginnvaldr giving a garbled moan. </p><p>    There was something underneath him, hard and hot, and it was only at Reginnvaldr’s moan that Gavin realized he had been squirming—<em>grinding</em>—down on him. Through the haze of Reginnvaldr’s smokey scent, Gavin knew he’d be extremely embarrassed once this was over, but the siren call of Reginnvaldr’s neck was too tempting to ignore and the knowledge he was writhing in Reginnvaldr’s lap barely gave him pause before he returned to vigorously rubbing his chin into Reginnvaldr’s neck.</p><p>    Despite being obviously affected by Gavin’s ministrations, Reginnvaldr gently maneuvered Gavin so that he was sitting on his lap and not grinding down on it. He ran one hand through Gavin’s hair, nails scratching in just the right way, stopping the complaints resting on Gavin’s tongue.</p><p>    “Tha—“ Reginnvaldr’s voice was hoarse and he cut himself off to clear his throat. “That… That’s enough, Gavin. We smell enough like each other I think.”</p><p>    The words were slow to sift through the fog clouding Gavin’s mind. When they did he was caught between whining for more and hiding his face in embarrassment. He carefully slid off Reginnvaldr’s lap and tried desperately not to notice the tent in his trousers or his own lingering arousal. It was quiet in the still aftermath of their scenting and Gavin could focus on how loudly he was breathing. Even his heart thumped overwhelmingly loudly in his chest and he swore Reginnvaldr could hear it too now that stillness captured them. </p><p>    “Gods, sorry I— I don’t know what came over me,” Gavin finally said, glancing briefly at Reginnvaldr before looking away and studying the wall. He stiffened when he felt Reginnvaldr’s hand cup his cheek and gently direct his gaze back.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr was smiling softly. He didn’t look upset in the slightest at Gavin’s scent-addled impropriety and Gavin thanked the gods for that leniency. He could barely stand his own fluctuating wants and feelings and didn’t think he could handle Reginnvaldr’s on top of it. “It’s okay,” he said. He ran a thumb over the thin skin beneath Gavin’s eye and then pulled away. </p><p>    He left the bed and stripped himself of his boots and winingas. The tunic, easily pulled over Reginnvaldr’s head, had a rather large tear down its front and Gavin winced when he remembered that he’d been the one to do that. Bollocks, it was Reginnvaldr’s nice one too.</p><p>    Stripped down to his trousers, Reginnvaldr made his way to the wash basin and began cleaning the sweat from his torso but didn’t use soap so as to preserve Gavin’s scent. Gavin watched the water drip down his back, droplets glimmering like they were liquid gold in the glimmering candlelight and the <em>greed</em> Gavin felt at the sight was staggering. </p><p>Reginnvaldr didn’t look back at Gavin when he next spoke, choosing instead to peer through a small silver mirror while he combed his hair instead. </p><p>    “You’re more than welcome to begin learning to fight tomorrow if you want,” he began. The bone comb made rubbing sounds as it was pulled through finger-tangled hair and Reginnvaldr’s fingers expertly pulled apart strands of hair for easier grooming. “But I was hoping you’d sit in on the peace talks for a bit. I could use your thoughts.”</p><p>    “Sounds more like a Jack kind of job, doesn’t it?”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr huffed his amusement through his nose. The bone comb was returned to its spot on the table and a thin strip of leather was grabbed instead. Reginnvaldr started pulling strands of freshly combed hair and weaving them through each other. “He will be present yes, as will Trausti and my sister. But Jack isn’t the <em>yfir-fœ</em>— uh, isn’t the head omega.” Reginnvaldr finished up the braid and tied it deftly with the leather strip. It was a handsome look. Gavin reached a hand up to run fingers through his own hair, much too short to braid like that, but longer than he’d had it since boyhood.</p><p>    His father had cut it after he presented.</p><p>    But now, with it slowly regaining its length, Gavin wondered if he could get it to a place where Reginnvaldr could braid it like he did his own. He probably had the shortest hair in the entire clan save for the bondservants that he never really liked to think about. Hair here was status. Did Eyesteinn suss out his being a foreigner by his hair?</p><p>    “Val, could Eyesteinn tell I wasn’t from here since I’ve still got my Northumbrian hair?”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr turned back to Gavin with a look of confusion on his face which was fair seeing as Gavin jumped topics without so much as a warning. He frowned and studied Gavin’s hair, smooth and flat as it was compared to the locks of the northmen, entirely undecorated too. </p><p>    “Y’know that’s actually a good point. Even the kids have better hair than you.” He ignored Gavin’s indignant squawk and continued. “Remind me to get Jack to braid your hair tomorrow before the talks. And continuing on that, I really would prefer if you were there. We can start training later, or you can ask Jack to start teaching you.”</p><p>    Gavin smiled at Reginnvaldr using his nickname for Jack. “Alright fine. Is there anything I need to be aware of for tomorrow?”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr shrugged and stretched. As he began to settle on the ground, he spoke again. “You did perfectly tonight. More of the same is all you need to do. Honestly without you there, we probably would have gone to war three times over with all that mead flowing. You tempered me.”
    Gavin preened at the compliment and started undressing. Once stripped down he snuggled under the furs. The whole event with Eyesteinn was far from over, but at least now he smelled like Reginnvaldr and at least he knew he’d done good. And really, as exhausting as the whole ordeal was, it went pretty smoothly with only a few hiccups. Tomorrow couldn’t be any worse.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Historical fun:</p><p>1) The mantel of "black shaggy fur" that Reginnvaldr wears is the same fireproof cloak Ragnar soaked in pitch.</p><p>2) Eyesteinn's seating position is important. According to "An Arena for Higher Power"by Olof Sundqvist in <em>Ideology and Power in the Viking and Middle Ages</em>, the King of Denmark or Svetjud would take the high seat in a hall during a feast or ceremony and those seated closest to the king would have the most power, influence, or reputation. It's why Meg and Jack sit so close to Reginnvaldr. And why Eyesteinn, despite his antagonism, would have been allowed to sit so closely. It wouldn't do well to spite him now, would it?</p><p>3) <em>yfir-madr</em> is a real Old Norse word meaning “Above-man" (ie, chieftain/king.) Since I've made madr mean alpha in this fic, it means something more like "Above [all] alpha[s]"</p><p>4) Lou (rightly) pointed out that the transition between Reginnvaldr speaking normally and recounting Ragnar's story is quite sudden and out of the blue. This was intentional and mimics Viking sagas (especially the Saga of Erikr Bloodax and the Saga of the Volsungs + Ragnar Lodbrok, which were my main stylistic inspirations.) Those Vikings sure did love randomly recounting stories out of nowhere.</p><p>5) Ériu means Ireland (both the land and its eponymous goddess)</p><p> </p><p>I hope you enjoyed! Next week's chapter is going to be <em> particularly</em> fire if I do say so myself. It's around 9k words pre-betaing, so not as long as this week's chapter, but still a nice length!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Endless apologies for the delayed (but not late!) update. It's my birthday today, so I was preoccupied with cleaning the house and cooking for a small (virus safe and negatively tested) get together. Nevertheless here is your update!<br/>Endless thank yous to <a href="https://deaadcrush.tumblr.com/">Lou</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a> for all that they do.<br/>Danheim's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2snGxzABIWo">Fimbul Radio</a> to set the mood.<br/>This chapter may be a little rougher because one of my betas was a little overwhelmed with classes this week. Regardless, I think this chapter is pretty 🔥 [fire emoji] anyways ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 7</p><p>    Tomorrow was worse.</p><p>    It didn’t start out worse of course. Gavin awoke around the same time as Reginnvaldr and they exchanged only slightly awkward greetings. Their scents were still so mingled in the air that it was hard for Gavin to think of anything other than the intimacy they shared. It was so much different in the morning, the night feeling like a dream, but their scents confirming the truth.</p><p>    Gavin found Jack shortly after dressing and asked him about hair braiding. It was there, on a low stool in the <em>stofa</em> with Jack’s hands expertly twisting his short hair together, that Gavin felt himself relax completely, leaning into Jack’s hands. </p><p>    “Gavin, you need to stop leaning back or I’m not actually going to be able to do this,” Jack said but he sounded amused.</p><p>    “Feels nice ’s all,” Gavin said back, voice slurring with relaxation. He couldn’t ever remember anyone playing with his hair before and instantly knew that he’d be begging Jack to give him braids again if only for the feeling. </p><p>    It didn’t last long unfortunately, what with his hair so short and Gavin grumbled a bit at its end. Jack rolled his eyes and held up the mirror he swiped from Gavin’s room.</p><p>    “I’ll braid it for you again you big spoiled baby.” He laughed at Gavin’s mock-offended face. “It’ll be better once your hair grows out a bit. <em>If</em> you want it to grow out. This one looks a little weird.”</p><p>    Gavin didn’t think it looked weird at all. The hair swooped gently under itself, pulling strands from his head as it traveled down his skull. He turned his head every which way to better see the braid. He looked beautiful. </p><p>    “Wow Jack that’s actually really good.”</p><p>    “I do what I can,” he replied in that voice that only just covered his pride. It made Gavin happy that Jack felt so good about helping. He was a good man. “I fixed it in place with a clip since it’s so short. I’ll be easier to take out but harder to keep in, so keep that in mind in case you go gallivanting around.” </p><p>    “I don’t go ‘<em>gallivanting around’</em>, Jack!” Gavin protested.</p><p>    Jack rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything further, instead getting to his feet and leading Gavin out of the <em>stofa</em>. The hall outside was busier than it would have been on a normal day, but still relatively empty for which Gavin was grateful. It seemed like Eyesteinn and his clan hadn’t yet come in pursuit of the <em>dagmál—</em>mid-day meal—yet.</p><p>    Gavin and Jack walked out the hall and towards the main farmhouse outside. It was a nice day out and Gavin was grateful for the small pleasure amidst Eyesteinn’s ugly presence. He looked at the clan in question, camped in the far fallow field and no doubt making a mess of the healing ground. They were far away from the main hall and Gavin couldn’t imagine why Eyesteinn insisted they stay there. It couldn’t have been fun to walk all that way half-drunk in the chill of the night. Despite being summer, it was cold and uncomfortable after the sun went down.</p><p>    The farmhouse was busier than the great hall and Gavin wasted no time in taking inventory of the chores that needed to be done. It looked like most of the livestock had been taken care of and the chickens needed for that evening were already prepped for butchering, no doubt thanks to Geoff’s mastery. Gavin gagged a bit at the sight of chicken carcasses but shook himself. He’d most likely have to help with those later, but at least for now he could focus on the yet unfinished crop chores. While Jack headed to the butchering table, Gavin signaled for one of the young men working to approach. He gave orders for the weeding and instructed they begin with seeding the nearer fallow field with winter crops.</p><p>    “Cabbage, parsnips, beets, and garlic. I want the parsnips on the far side, the cabbage to the south, and the beets and garlic closer to the great hall. See if you can section them off better, I’d like to be able to keep stock of exactly how many of each crop we grow at a glance rather than waiting until we harvest.” The young man gave a respectful nod and hurried off to tell the others their tasks.</p><p>    “You’ve learned so much in such a short time,” Jack said, shooting Gavin a proud smile from where he’d begun plucking one of the chickens Geoff left for butchering. “You’re a natural.” </p><p>    Gavin shook his head but couldn’t stop a small smile from forming. “Nah, it’s just doing what needs to be done, yeah?” He paused for a moment, contemplating asking Jack about Ita. On one hand, it might soothe his worries, on the other he was scared of the consequences of asking. Gavin huffed and his smile melted away. Only one way to find out what would happen.</p><p>    “Jack, there was an omega girl last night, sitting with Eyesteinn… She said her name was Ita.”</p><p>    Jack looked up from half plucked chicken in his hands and frowned. “I saw her. Poor thing with her neck all cut up.” He went back to the chicken, quickly plucking feathers from its body and setting them aside in a clean basket for some other use. Gavin closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, and grabbed a chicken of his own. It wasn’t glamorous work and more often than not it had his stomach roiling, but it was necessary and he didn’t want his sheltered life at Castle Bamburg to prevent him from doing what needed to be done. Jack had already laughed and teased him the first time he showed him the particulars of butchering chickens and it wouldn’t do to have a repeat performance of that whole gagging and retching show.</p><p>    Trying not to think about the dead thing in his hands, Gavin went through the motions of defeathering the bird while focusing on his conversation with Jack. “She spoke to me, you know. She… Jack she wasn’t in a good way.”</p><p>    “No, I don’t imagine she was,” Jack put his finished chicken in a separate basket where another already lay, ready for the <em>stofa</em>.</p><p>    “Jack she… Jack, am I allowed to fight here? Can I fight as an omega?” </p><p>    Jack’s frown deepened and he dropped his new chicken on the table. He wiped his hands thoroughly with a rag and turned directly to face Gavin. Full on, his frown looked more confused than Gavin had initially noticed. </p><p>    “Gavin, I’m an omega and one of the best warriors in the clan. Honestly, I think only your Reginnvaldr can best me. Or Meg if she’s drunk.” He gestured to himself with one hand—filthy as it was— as if to say ‘look at me’. “Jerbjorn fights and he’s an omega, I fight and I’m an omega, if you want to, <em>you</em> can fight and <em>you’re</em> an omega.”</p><p>    “Oh,” Gavin said, face heating with sheepishness. “Yeah, I guess I forgot about that.” Not wanting to mess with his clothing, Gavin instead fiddled with a stray feather, rubbing it instead of making eye contact. “It’s just… Ita—the girl— she just reminded me that I don’t really belong here. That I’m not really free.”</p><p>    The silence that met Gavin was uncomfortable. Jack’s brows were furrowed even deeper and his mouth was downturned in a distinctly unpleased expression. Gavin worried his lip anxiously; if <em>Jack</em> was this upset, how upset would <em>Reginnvaldr</em> have been if he told him the details? </p><p>    Slowly, Jack took Gavin’s hands in his own and held them tightly. “Is that how you feel Gavin?” He asked quietly, so quietly that Gavin nearly didn’t hear him over the distant noises of the livestock. </p><p>    He thought about the question. Did he feel that way? Prior to Ita, he’d been enjoying life in Jutland. It was hard work of course, much harder than anything a third son of an earl had done before, but rewarding. And the people were brilliant, so ready to laugh and so eager to help. They reminded him of half-forgotten stories his nursemaid would tell him when he was a child. Of daring heroes and friendly farmers.</p><p>    But with all that, as nice as it was, was he free? </p><p>    “V—Val brought me here.” Gavin said, hesitantly, searching Jack’s face for any sign of trouble. It remained in its frown but didn’t worsen. “Val brought me here and I didn’t really get a say in it. It was either come here with all of you, or let Bamburgh fall. And let you all…pillage and rape.” He winced at that phrase but Jack remained unmoved. “I didn’t get a choice. It’s nice here—of course it is— but does that matter?”</p><p>    Jack’s brow went the opposite way then, wrinkled with distress. “Of course it matters. What you feel matters Gavin, not what other people think.”</p><p>    “But am I free Jack?” Gavin asked. Ita’s words ground on the inside of his skull like they were trying to escape. “Can I…” He swallowed a lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “Can I take one of those horses and ride? Can I hold a sword and can I fight? Can I.. Can I <em>kill</em>?” The lump was bigger now and Gavin felt like he couldn’t breathe, the air becoming stuck in his throat and tears spilling over. This was worse, somehow, than asking Reginnvaldr the same questions last night. Jack squeezed his hands and Gavin was grateful for the contact, even as conflicted as he was.</p><p>    “You can do all those things and more, Gavin,” Jack said firmly, voice only slightly hoarse with his own upset. “You can fight and kill and ride and <em>live</em>. You can command the warriors and extract justice on the guilty. You can build your own house outside the hall and live like a hermit practicing <em>seiðr</em> and eating snails.” Gavin gave a hiccuping laugh at that. “What more does freedom mean?”</p><p>    Gavin thought about it. Though most of his worries had been addressed—both by Reginnvaldr and now by Jack— he still worried. What would happen if it all changed? If he no longer acted the perfect omega? </p><p>    “What if I wanted to leave, Jack?” Gavin whispered. Jack’s eyes went even sadder at that and Gavin immediately wanted to take it back if only to prevent his friend from hurting.</p><p>    “Do you want to leave?” Jack asked just as softly. “Is leaving <em>freedom</em>?”</p><p>    “I-I don’t… Yes. Yes leaving is freedom.”</p><p>    “Could you leave Castle Bamburgh?” Jack asked, eyes flickering between Gavin’s own. The pointed question took Gavin by surprise. Jack’s shrewdness found something Gavin himself hadn’t even known was there.</p><p>    “No,” Gavin said at last. “No I couldn’t.”</p><p>    And he hadn’t been allowed to. Gavin could count on one hand the number of times he’d left the castle, and all of them he’d merely been allowed to visit the small town Castle Bamburgh overlooked. His father had feared his exposure and the castle grounds were exploration enough for a child. Really, Gavin hadn’t even realized the shortness of his leash as an adult; adjusted to the restrictions and complacent with his role as the ignored omegean secret. </p><p>    “If you couldn’t, then by your own words, you weren’t free there,” Jack said slowly. “If you need to, we can speak with Reginnvaldr about letting you visit Castle Bamburgh, but I don’t think he’d consent to you going alone.” Jack sighed and went to run a hand through his hair but halted the movement when he remembered the filth. “Once this nonsense with Eyesteinn is finished, we can see about letting you go off and see Jutland too. Since you’re so eager to get away.”</p><p>    “Sorry Jack,” Gavin said, voice small. He didn’t mean to hurt Jack, but it seemed like he did just that. Jack’s shoulders were set and his voice was still hoarse. He nodded at Gavin’s apology but didn’t reply. </p><p>    Well, Gavin thought, I suppose I did just imply I was a prisoner here. Anyone would be upset hearing their friend thought themselves a prisoner in their life. </p><p>    They finished defeathering the chickens in silence. When the last chicken had been plucked and thrown in the basket, Gavin began mentally preparing himself for gutting and butchering the birds. It was a nasty process and cutting off the feet always gave him the creeps.</p><p>    “I’ve got it,” Jack said. “Go… do whatever it is you do. If you still want to attend the talks, they’ll be in an hour in the great hall. If you need me, I’ll be there.” </p><p>    “Wh—” Gavin began, but Jack turned his back to him and purposefully hit the table with his gutting knife as he cut the chicken, letting the chopping sound drown out Gavin’s voice. Gavin blinked, more hurt at it than he thought he’d be and hastily retreated back to the great hall.</p><p>    Tears kept filling his eyes, blinding him, and in his turmoil, Gavin didn’t realize he was about to run in to someone until it was too late. Mǫgr grunted at the impact and glared, but did stop Gavin from falling with a hand on his shoulder. </p><p>    “Fucking watch it,” he growled but Gavin saw his features soften to confusion when he noticed Gavin’s tear-streaked face. “What happened to you?”</p><p>    Gavin sniffled and the sound was pitiful even to his own ears. “Nothing, sod off.”</p><p>    Mǫgr rolled his eyes and hauled Gavin completely upright. He didn’t look pleased with Gavin’s answer and somehow managed to glare and look confused at the same time. “Listen idiot, if you’re fucked up it means my mate’s going to be fucked up because for some fucking reason, he cares about you. So tell me what the fuck’s going on so I can fucking fix it and my fucking mate will be okay.”</p><p>    Through his tears, a hysterical giggle bubbled up. “You swear a lot,” he mumbled and it was thick with both tears and mirth. Mǫgr’s grimace made Gavin laugh again. The poor man was probably out of depth handling a distraught and hysterical omega.</p><p>    “Fucking Reginnvaldr owes me for this,” Mǫgr muttered to himself, glare firmly in place as he hauled Gavin over to a pair of wooden benches outside the great hall. “What the fuck’s your deal?”</p><p>    “Can you teach me to fight?” Gavin asked instead. His voice was thick and shaky still and little bubbles of nervous laughter kept threatening to erupt from his mouth. He cleared his throat once. “Can you teach me?”</p><p>    “I— What the fuck? Why are you asking me? You don’t even know me!” Mǫgr waved his arms in front of Gavin before settling them on his hips.</p><p>    Gavin swallowed. The answer would make him sound pitiful but he didn’t care. Mǫgr had already seen him cry, what’s another blow to his pride?</p><p>    “You—you’re the only person I know for certain who won’t bullshit me.” Gavin said, and though tears could still be heard in his voice, his tone was blunt, matter of fact. “You won’t let me slack off or muck about and more importantly, I don’t think you’d lie to me to spare me discomfort.” Gavin’s breath came out in a shudder. “Forget it, it was a stupid idea.”</p><p>    Mǫgr’s hand came out of nowhere and clapped Gavin hard enough on the shoulder that his knees nearly gave out. “Okay, okay. I— fuck, okay. I can teach you to fight. Þórr fucking help me.”</p><p>    Gavin felt his mouth open in shock but before he could say anything, before he could <em>thank</em> Mǫgr profusely, Mǫgr was gone, heading towards the farmhouse where Jack ostensibly still butchered chickens. Gavin sighed at that. Hopefully Mǫgr would still be amenable to teaching him once he found Jack upset.</p><p>    Without much else to do, Gavin headed for his chambers. It was very nearly noon and he could already see some of Eyesteinn’s men puttering around outside the great hall. Gavin quickly walked to their chambers and stripped himself of his work clothes, careful to wrap the soiled apron in itself before throwing it in the wash basket. He scrubbed his hands up to the arms with the washing cloth and basin water to remove the worst of the filth from the chores and splashed a bit of water on his face to reduce the irritation from his teary eyes.</p><p>    His formal clothes were slightly wrinkled from being so hastily put away and they still smelled so, <em>so</em> strongly of Reginnvaldr. Much stronger than Gavin expected them to. He rubbed a piece of the fabric between his thumb and index finger briefly, contemplating the softness of the garment and the scent that leaked out of it. </p><p>    And if Gavin brought the tunic to his face and inhaled Reginnvaldr’s lingering scent, well, no one had to know.</p><p>    Fully dressed in the appropriate clothing, Gavin opened the door only to find Reginnvaldr standing in the way, hand extended like he was about to enter. He chuckled a bit and Gavin backed into the room to allow him entry, keeping his head down.</p><p>    “How are you, Gavin?” He asked. When Gavin didn’t immediately reply, Reginnvaldr frowned and gently tilted his chin up. “Have you been crying?”</p><p>    Despite his head being tilted up, Gavin kept his eyes low. He cursed himself for so hastily washing his face and not taking into account the scent of tears and upset that still clung to him. “No,” Gavin mumbled and he could hear the childishness in his own voice. </p><p>    “O…kay.” Reginnvaldr said, dragging the word out to make it clear he didn’t believe Gavin, but was willing to continue rather than calling him out on it. “So we’ve established that you haven’t been crying. And you <em>haven’t</em> been crying because…?”</p><p>    Gavin sighed and decided to give in to the instinct that kept itching at the back of his mind. He leaned forward until the top half of his body was entirely supported by Reginnvaldr’s weight. To Reginnvaldr’s credit, he didn’t say anything or startle, just carefully wrapped his arms around Gavin and rested his chin on his head.</p><p>    “’S just that whole thing with Ita,” Gavin said, voice muffled from where his mouth was pressed against Reginnvaldr’s chest. “It’s got me out of sorts. I quarreled with Jack.”</p><p>    “And you <em>didn’t</em> cry because you and Jack fought.”</p><p>    Gavin hummed his affirmation. Reginnvaldr began swaying them gently, like he was trying to rock Gavin to calm like a babe to sleep.</p><p>    “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”</p><p>    The question was a sweet one and Gavin smiled just at Reginnvaldr asking it. Regardless of his internal turmoil with his place here, Gavin appreciated how considerate Reginnvaldr was through it all.</p><p>    “I’m fine,” he answered. “I’ll be fine by the time we have to talk to Eyesteinn the royal asshole.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr huffed a laugh and shook his head. He opened his clothing chest and began rummaging through for something, despite already being dressed in all his finery—pitch cloak included. “At least we don’t have to do this in a castle and with other royal assholes. I could never stand on ceremony like that.”</p><p>    “You stand on ceremony here well enough!” Gavin protested. “There’s just as much tradition here as there is in Northumbria.”</p><p>    “There’s tradition, yes, but there isn’t that great steaming pile of shit you call the ‘church’,” Reginnvaldr laughed. He finally pulled a massive pelt from the chest and held it up proudly. How he managed to fit the thing inside the chest in the first place mystified Gavin. “I happen to prefer drinking and making sacrifice to the gods far more than whatever the fuck it is your clergy get up to.”</p><p>    Gavin snorted. He too preferred the few sacrifices he’d experienced in Jutland a thousand times more than the church services in Castle Bamburgh’s chapel. It was a much simpler affair to watch a vǫlva priest-woman splatter pig or cow blood on some stones and then enjoy the meat for dinner with beer. Much tastier than the eucharist too.</p><p>    “Suppose you’re right about that,” Gavin agreed. He looked at Reginnvaldr curiously, forgetting anything else he had to say on the subject of ceremony when he saw Reginnvaldr fiddling with the edge of the pelt. “What are you using that for?”</p><p>    “It’s going to be used like a cloak,” Reginnvaldr replied, still fiddling with the edge. Gavin caught a glimpse of gold and suspected Reginnvaldr was working a cloak-pin into the untreated pelt. It might have been a bear for how large it was, but the coloring suggested it was a the skin of a massive wolf.</p><p>    “You double-cloaking it, Val?” Gavin teased.</p><p>    “Nope,” Reginnvaldr replied, glee shining through his voice like he was so excited he couldn’t hide it. He finally managed to wiggle the cloak pin through the pelt and rubbed part of the fur over his scent glands. “It’s for you.”</p><p>    Gavin blinked in surprise but quickly felt warmth rush through his veins. “It’s for me? Like for me, for me?”</p><p>    “Yes, for you, for you,” Reginnvaldr said, smiling at Gavin’s visible excitement. “Is that okay?” Reginnvaldr moved closer to Gavin, waiting for his consent to put the cloak on him.</p><p>    Gavin nodded and stretched his neck out for Reginnvaldr to more easily clothe him. The cloak, even untreated and unlined, was warm and comfortable. Its fur was softer than it looked and more importantly, it smelled like Reginnvaldr. When that became so important, Gavin wasn’t sure, but it was now and so he counted the scented cloak that much more precious.</p><p>    “What is it?” Gavin asked, pulling the cloak to his nose and inhaling deeply. Reginnvaldr’s scent mingled with the indescribable scent of the wild.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr smirked. “It’s a cloak.”</p><p>    With raised eyebrow and flat expression, Gavin let the cloak drop back down and put his hands on his hips. Leave it to Reginnvaldr to develop a sense of humor now. “I swear to the gods I <em>will</em> smack you.” He left his threat at that and hoped his stare would convey how unimpressed he was. Reginnvaldr snickered and nudged Gavin’s head with his nose like he was a pup. </p><p>    Gavin ignored how it made butterflies appear in his stomach.</p><p>    “It was an <em>úlfr</em>, and this one was a son of Garmr, which is why it’s so big.”</p><p>    “Ah, I’m assuming that means ‘wolf’?” Gavin asked, still somewhat embarrassed at his lack of perfect fluency, but less embarrassed than he anticipated being.</p><p>    For his part, Reginnvaldr didn’t poke fun at him and didn’t seem to mind. “It does. And Garmr is the guard of <em>Helheim</em>. This particular pelt came from a wolf so large he ran down the length of my spear and still had room to bite at me. And for that reason,” Reginnvaldr smoothed his hands down Gavin’s arms. “I say he can be no one other than the son of a godly beast.”</p><p>    “Just like you,” Gavin teased, lips twitching to fight off a playful smile.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr gave a playful growl and nuzzled his face in the crook of Gavin’s neck. “Just like me,” he agreed. He attached his mouth to Gavin’s neck and blew hard, making a rude sound and causing Gavin to giggle at the ticklish sensation. He took that as encouragement and began tickling everywhere he could reach, much to Gavin’s howls of dissent. Thankfully, the pelt cloak saved him from a majority of Reginnvaldr’s assault and Reginnvaldr soon grew tired of attempting to surpass the fur. </p><p>    Gavin leaned on Reginnvaldr and wrapped his arms around him. He purred when he felt Reginnvaldr’s arms encircle his waist in turn and the two hugged in silence for a few glorious moments. The air was so calm and peaceful after the tickling and Gavin wanted to soak it in before dealing with Eyesteinn’s madness.</p><p>    “When do we have to go?” Gavin asked, reluctant to break the mood but compelled by anxiety. He felt, more than heard, Reginnvaldr exhale heavily.</p><p>    “About ten minutes ago,” was the reply. Gavin laughed and pulled away from the embrace, lacing his fingers through Reginnvaldr’s as consolation for the loss of contact. It astounded him how quickly he had grown accustomed to Reginnvaldr’s touch in the mere day. From jolting at his hand on his waist for the sake of showing Eyesteinn a stable, united clan, to clutching each other while scenting, to a tender embrace. All in a day. It was like they were made for each other, Gavin mused, they fit together so well there could be no other explanation. </p><p>    They made their way back in to the main hall and took their seats at the same table as the night before, with Gavin at Reginnvaldr’s side. Though they were late, Eyesteinn was still absent from the table. A few plates of flatbread and cheeses littered the table and each place had a horn or cup for drink and Gavin perked up a little at the sight. At least there’d be food to distract him from the undoubtedly tedious conversation. Jack sat a few seats down on Reginnvaldr’s other side, next to Meg and a thin man Gavin assumed was Trausti though they had never spoken. He tried to catch Jack’s eye but the man was staunchly focused on a map laid out on the table.</p><p>    It was no sooner than they’d take their seats at the head of the table that Eyesteinn strode into the hall. He looked much the same as he did the previous night with a relatively mundane tunic and uncombed mustache. Gavin noticed his eyes tighten, almost imperceptibly, when he saw him next to Reginnvaldr. Gavin squared his shoulders and sat up straighter, head tilted just slightly up and eyes disinterested. Just like he remembered from his etiquette lessons years and years ago at Castle Bamburgh. </p><p>    Eyesteinn let out a bark of laughter and waved his hands to Jack and Gavin. “Always with the omegas, Reginnvaldr. I always think you’ll grow out of it, but every time we visit I’m proven wrong! Last time they’re fighting in the ring, this time they’re attending negotiations. What’s next!” Jack’s expression didn’t change in the slightest and Gavin was impressed. He was sure his own face had a flicker of annoyance but Jack was immovable. </p><p>    “Bah, let’s get this shite over with so we can get to the drinking, eh Reginnvaldr?” Eyesteinn said after a beat where no one spoke. He landed heavily in his seat from last night. For all his words and presentation of being carefree, Gavin could see how tense Eyesteinn was, like he expected a knife through his stomach before the meeting was over. </p><p>    “Shall we begin with access to the sea or with territory borders?” Reginnvaldr asked calmly.</p><p>    “Give us the sea one, warm our way up to the shouting matches,” Eyesteinn replied with what might have been a good natured smile had it been on anyone else. Reginnvaldr nodded and Jack began pointing to specific markings on the map.</p><p>    “We currently give you access here,” what looked to be a disjointed river system, “And here,” a narrow to the west, “You do, of course, have your lands and access throughout them.” Jack tapped the map where a land to the north east dipped down but cut off. Gavin blinked once in surprise, careful to keep his face neutral beyond that; he hadn’t realized Eyesteinn’s kingdom lay on a land disconnected from this one. Surely his own land had a way to access the greater sea.</p><p>    “We want access through the middle canal,” said one of Eyesteinn’s men. </p><p>    “That’s non-negotiable,” Trausti said. “The middle canal will remain closed.”</p><p>    It seemed that everyone started yelling at that. Eyesteinn’s men in disagreement, Meg and Jack in support of Trausti who kept repeating himself. Even Reginnvaldr added to the din, albeit trying to get the conversation under control. Really, the only ones who weren’t yelling, Gavin mused, were himself and Eyesteinn. Eyesteinn, who looked smug at the shouts, meeting Gavin’s eyes steadily, thin smirk playing on his face.</p><p>    It instilled a sense of dread in Gavin’s stomach, though he wasn’t sure why. True enough, Eyesteinn was a sexist; he was temperamental and irritating and changeable, but none of these were cause for how foreboding it all seemed. Like looming clouds or dark before a storm, Eyesteinn’s smirk promised something bad. He wanted to tell Reginnvaldr, but gods what would he even say? That something about Eyesteinn put him on edge? That was laughable— of course Eyesteinn put him on edge, he was a rival to Gavin’s clan for Oðinn’s sake!</p><p>    “Oh come now Páll,” Eyesteinn said, eyes shifting away to one of his men. “We can continue to use the western pass, no harm. Take it as a gesture of goodwill, Reginnvaldr.” He nodded to Reginnvaldr as if he’d done him a great favor by not pressing the matter. Gavin resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead attempted to stare as blankly as possible at what looked like a mead stain on the table a few feet away.</p><p>    “Of course, Eyesteinn,” Reginnvaldr said. “Why don’t we begin with your proposal for the borders next?”</p><p>    “You so graciously let us keep the barrow where many of our elders have been buried,” said Eyesteinn, waving a hand over part of the northern land. “And we’re so grateful for this allowance…”</p><p>    “But?” prompted Jack when Eyesteinn didn’t continue. Gavin saw his eyes flash dangerously at Jack’s word and his hand twitch towards a weapon that wasn’t there. Tread carefully Jack, Gavin thought.</p><p>    “Nothing more to add,” said Eyesteinn. “We’re grateful that you allow us access to our dead here. We would of course do the same if it happened to you.” His tone suggested there were leagues he wasn’t saying and he looked almost like he wanted to laugh. Gavin didn’t like it. He spoke in circles, not saying what he meant and giving half-truths where most wouldn’t. It reminded Gavin of the court back in Northumbria, dizzying and full of deceit. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr inclined his head to Eyesteinn just enough to be considered polite. “It would be a wicked thing indeed to keep a family from their dead.” The statement was heavy, loaded with something that no one was outwardly acknowledging. Gavin was hit with the memory of Reginnvaldr preparing him for Eyesteinn’s arrival, explaining his father’s death.</p><p>
  <em>    “My father was captured in the battle. Eyesteinn thew him into a pit of serpents. A cruel mockery of his feats in life.”</em>
</p><p>    It would be a wicked thing to keep a family from their dead.    </p><p>    “Yes it would,” Eyesteinn agreed. </p><p>    A tense few moments of silence passed. Eyesteinn still held his sharp grin. Gods it was maddening; less than an hour into the talks and Gavin was regretting his tagging along. A quick glance to Reginnvaldr at his side informed him that Reginnvaldr wouldn’t be encouraging Eyesteinn to continue anytime soon. Stupid alphas and their pride. Well, if they wouldn’t be continuing the talks, Gavin would. He did have things he wanted to do today after all.</p><p>    “And your proposition for future borders, <em>yfir-maðr</em> Eyesteinn?” Gavin asked in his most detached, most unimpressed voice. It sounded quite good to his own ears and he supposed his etiquette tutor from his childhood would be proud of him. Well, excepting the copious drinking and heathenism and bonding a northman alpha. Maybe his tutor wouldn’t have been very proud after all.</p><p>    “Cheeky little thing speaking unprompted!” Eyesteinn sounded delighted, his eyes gleaming in manic glee. “Though I see you remember our lesson from last night about how to properly address your <em>alpha</em>.”</p><p>    The growl from Reginnvaldr was instant and Gavin was half tempted to let him keep on with it; it’d serve Eyesteinn right. But a self-control Gavin truly didn’t think he possessed kept him steady and so he made sure to squeeze Reginnvaldr’s hand in warning instead. </p><p>    “Indeed. Your proposition?” Gavin repeated. </p><p>    Eyesteinn shook his head like he couldn’t believe Gavin was asking. He waved on one of his men.</p><p>    “The tide barrow,” one of them said, jabbing a finger at the northern part of the kingdom. “And the surrounding farmland.”</p><p>    Eyesteinn spoke then. “You wouldn’t want a child to grow up so far from their ancestors, of course.”</p><p>    “We currently allow you to visit your people’s barrow whenever you want,” Reginnvaldr said. His voice was level but Gavin could still feel the irritation rolling off of him. “But just as we don’t settle there, neither will you. It’s used for the <em>þing</em>, nothing more.” </p><p>    Gavin’s eyes flickered to Reginnvaldr but refocused on the meeting’s proceedings quickly enough to not be caught. He couldn’t remember ever hearing of a <em>þing</em>, and it did seem odd that Reginnvaldr would be so against any kind of settlement agreement. If Eyesteinn’s people really did have ancestors buried there of course.</p><p>    “And I’m sure you wouldn’t want something for nothing,” Gavin heard himself saying. He surprised himself a bit, but pushed through. “You’re a fair man, after all.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr gave a sound of agreement and Gavin could smell how proud he was. What an odd feeling, to have an alpha feeling like this about you. For how pleased Reginnvaldr seemed over it, Gavin would have thought <em>Reginnvaldr</em> was the one that said it, not him.</p><p>    “Clever little omega,” Eyesteinn said, and it was almost mocking. Gavin said nothing, kept his eyes steady though the urge to roll them was unbelievable. “Some might say your nerve is off-putting. Be grateful I’m not one of them.” Eyesteinn turned to Reginnvaldr then and Gavin scoffed at how typical it was for an alpha to look to another alpha for the debate even when an omega had been the one to begin it. “What say you to thirty <em>þrælar</em>. We’ve had a good harvest this year too, and I’ll give you twenty hides on top of it.” His smile turned distinctly nasty when he directed it to Gavin. “And something pretty for your omega too.” </p><p>    <em>Þrælar</em>, what did that mean? Damn, his limitations with language seemed to come up at the least opportune times. He still needed to ask Reginnvaldr about that word he blushed over the previous night too. Too busy musing over his lacking vocabulary skills, Gavin didn’t notice Reginnvaldr stiffen until he heard Jack speak, voice stilted and icy.</p><p>    “You know we don’t enjoy using <em>þrælar </em>here,” Jack said. He didn’t offer anything further and Gavin wished he had a list of all the northmen words and their Ænglisc equivalents so he could look up whatever the hell a <em>þrælar </em>was because he could feel Reginnvaldr rapidly going from stoic to furious. What Eyesteinn said next didn’t help.</p><p>    “You <em>do</em> use them though,” he said smugly, and though Jack had spoken, his address was entirely to Reginnvaldr. “And even you, Reginnvaldr, with all your lofty ideals can’t deny pragmatism. You need a <em>þrælar </em>to do your chores and sweep your halls and dump your shit so you can have more time drinking your mead and knotting your bitch. We all know it, we all do it.” Dead silence met Eyesteinn and Gavin could feel the tension in the air, like a thick curd over milk. Gavin desperately hoped it wouldn’t end with a knife cutting it apart. Unarmed or not, he didn’t trust the tentative peace of this whole arrangement. </p><p>    “We can give thirty,” one of Eyesteinn’s men said. “And two thousand <em>dirhams</em> to ease the burden of carrying them.”</p><p>    Gavin noticed the shock on Trausti’s face. He quickly glanced at Jack whose diplomatic mask showed the smallest bit of surprise in his slightly raised eyebrows. Jack caught him staring and covertly mimed rubbing two coins together. <em>Oh</em>. Minted coin was hard to come by; it said a great deal about Eyesteinn’s wealth and influence if he could afford to give tangible wealth out like this. </p><p>    In any other instance, Gavin might say it was a show of good faith to Reginnvaldr. After all, it was quite a show of how much Eyesteinn valued Reginnvaldr, choosing to offer him a steady currency in place of furs or crops. But here, now? Gavin wasn’t so sure. It didn’t feel right, didn’t line up with how Eyesteinn had been acting. This was more the move of a respectful, experienced king, not a maliciously teasing alpha playing at power. It didn’t match up.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr almost looked considering and Gavin wanted to beg him not to take poorly disguised motives wrapped in the shine of coin. His people were well off, they didn’t need to succumb to this. For the first time in his life, Gavin thought he might understand nauseating alpha pride because at this moment he felt much, much too proud to accept any kind of offer Eyesteinn was making. His people were too proud. </p><p>    Gavin squeezed Reginnvaldr’s hand hard, just once and when he felt his eyes upon him, give the smallest of head shakes he could. Two, much softer squeezes responded and then Reginnvaldr spoke. </p><p>    “My friend, it pains me to decline, but for this season we must. The <em>þing</em> is too important to move from that place. Your clan is still welcome to visit their barrow whenever they would like of course. Perhaps we can discuss this next year and see if circumstances have changed.”</p><p>    There was no sound. It seemed like even the mundanity of life outside the hall stopped. Gavin couldn’t hear the sounds of distant livestock or rolling carts. He couldn’t hear the <em>stofa</em> fire crackling or the rustling of fabric. It was like the entire world had shrunk down to that table. But even as worried as Gavin was to Eyesteinn’s reaction, he was relieved Reginnvaldr hadn’t accepted the coin and <em>þrælar</em>—whatever it was— because he just <em>knew</em> Eyesteinn hadn’t meant it.</p><p>    “You always were a damned stubborn fool,” Eyesteinn said at last. He stretched, arms and chest expanding and taking up entirely too much room. “But you’re still young. When that silver looks good three months from now, send word and we’ll still take the barrow.” He reached for one of the plates of cheese and stuffed a chunk into his mouth. “You’re lucky I’m a good man, Reginnvaldr. There aren’t many others that would stand for how you do things here. Omegas with their <em>constitutions</em> in charge and your closest clansmen brushed aside? It’s childish nonsense. Like a little boy playing at king.”</p><p>    How <em>dare</em> he! Gavin stood abruptly and slammed his hands on the table. One of the cups, empty thank the gods, rattled and fell over, rolling off the edge and clattering against the stone. No one moved a muscle. </p><p>    He was panting hard, like he’d just run all the way from the fallow-field. His hands wanted to shake despite being laid out flat. Gavin forced down the growl that wanted to rise from his chest and instead took a deep breath. </p><p>    “Forgive me, I find my…” Gavin bared his teeth in the faintest facsimile of a smile and let the rage he felt in his stomach burn through his eyes. “<em>Omegean constitution</em> betrays me. I think it best we retire for the evening and reconvene the same time tomorrow, yes?” </p><p>    Without awaiting a response, Gavin grabbed Reginnvaldr’s hand and pulled him from the room. He didn’t care to look back and see the looks of disbelief on everyone’s faces. If they didn’t like it, they could shove it.</p><p>    “What was that all about?” Reginnvaldr asked as Gavin marched them out of the hall and to the training ring, which was blessedly empty. Gavin huffed and slumped over the wooden fence. </p><p>    “That was bloody <em>awful</em>,” he said. “Imagine being such a big-headed prick you thought you could just—could just <em>insult</em> another <em>yfir-maðr</em> like that! And saying those things about Jack and I. I may not know how to swing a sword around yet but I bet you a million pounds of gold that I’d be better than <em>him</em> of all people. And I know you know Jack’s brilliant. I don’t think I’ve <em>ever</em> been this mad! Val, he’s <em>awful</em>, Val. Tell him to go home, Val.” Gavin got progressively whinier throughout his speech but he couldn’t help it. He was exhausted putting on such a formal persona and such a particular show and dammit, he just wanted his alpha to do something about it.</p><p>    “Frigg help me,” Reginnvaldr muttered. Gavin chose to ignore it and let an omegean whine slip out. Despite his words, Reginnvaldr’s response was laughably fast. He wrapped his arms around Gavin from behind and nuzzled his throat in a delicate scenting. “He is awful. You’ve got that much right,” he said. “But it’s only a few more days. And I shouldn’t have asked you to attend the talks. You did wonderfully but I shouldn’t have put that on you.”</p><p>    “’S fine,” Gavin said. “I at least know a fair bit about diplomacy. Wasn’t like I was going into it blind. Honestly if Eyesteinn wasn’t such a <em>tosser</em>, it’d have been fine.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr hummed and rubbed his cheek against Gavin’s head. “I’m sure,” he said, voice noticeably careful. Gavin tensed at the tone. “I find it difficult to focus, however, when quarreling with my friends, even in the best of circumstances.”</p><p>    Gavin huffed and took a step away from Reginnvaldr, even though every part of him screamed to stay in the man’s embrace. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, looking away.</p><p>    “Well I do,” said Reginnvaldr. “I don’t want to see you upset and I need Jack to be able to focus while Eyesteinn is here. And the way it’s going now, I’m seeing you upset and Jack distracted. What happened that was so bad you needed to cry over it and Jack needed to avoid my eye in the talks?”</p><p>    Though impulse directed he groan and stomp around like a child, Gavin liked to think he proved maturity in only grumbling and shifting his weight. It didn’t, however, stop the urge to skip away from the conversation. “We had a ‘row’ that’s all.” </p><p>    “What’s a ‘row’?” Reginnvaldr asked. Gavin blinked; he so often forgot that the lack of fluency ran on both their parts. </p><p>    “It’s an argument. We just had an argument.” </p><p>    Reginnvaldr hummed and though he didn’t step closer to Gavin, he did sway and let his weight shift towards him. “Ah yes, you quarreled. What was that ‘row’ about then?” An easy smile played on his mouth, an attempt at getting Gavin comfortable enough to speak. Gavin in equal parts cursed that consideration and thanked it.</p><p>    “It’ll make you mad,” he mumbled. “It was about… a lot of stuff. But also you.”</p><p>    He felt wind brush against his cheek and before he knew it, Reginnvaldr was kneeling down in front of him, paying no mind to the mud staining his trousers nor his cloak trailing on the ground. It sent a jolt of energy through Gavin to see him like that. An alpha was never to kneel before an omega. And what’s more, a northmen was never to kneel before anyone but the gods. </p><p>    But here was Reginnvaldr, knelt in the mud with an earnest expression on his face, knelt before a Northumbrian omega. Gavin marveled at the feeling of power the rushed over him; a shaky, electric feeling he wasn’t entirely sure he liked.</p><p>    “Gavin,” said Reginnvaldr. “I won’t be upset. Tell me what happened so I can help you fix it.”</p><p>    Gods, his face was so open, so pleading. Gavin wanted to join him in the mud, to make the odd feeling of standing while another kneeled, disappear. Instead, he spoke, trying not to meet Reginnvaldr’s too-sincere eyes. “I said that I wasn’t free here and Jack disagreed. And then I said that you wouldn’t let me go if I wanted to leave, and <em>he</em> said that you would,” Gavin’s eyes flickered briefly to meet Reginnvaldr’s and then instantly flickered away when he saw the confusion and hurt in them. “And we argued about it, and that’s why Jack’s mad at me.”</p><p>    Though they were outside, Gavin could smell how hurt Reginnvaldr was. It filled his nostrils and clouded his head, making him want to throw himself upon the ground like a supplicant and beg Reginnvaldr to forget it. To let them go back to their hand holding and shy looks. </p><p>    “I wish it unsaid,” Gavin said at the same time that Reginnvaldr said “Well let’s get you a horse.”</p><p>    They stared at each other for a moment, the silence heavy and uncomfortable in a way Gavin hadn’t experienced with Reginnvaldr. “Go ahead,” Reginnvaldr said. </p><p>    “You first,” insisted Gavin.</p><p>    He looked at him for a moment, analyzing before speaking. “I said, then let’s get you a horse—one you can actually ride— and get you back to Northumbria.”</p><p>    Gavin felt his mouth open and hurried to close it. He was expecting many things from his outburst, but this was not one of them. Reginnvaldr’s open expression, sad in the eyes but earnest and sincere. None of it was expected.</p><p>    “I— oh,” Gavin said. He moved his gaze to beyond Reginnvaldr’s shoulder as looking him in the eye became too difficult. Reginnvaldr didn’t move from his kneel in the mud.</p><p>    “It’ll be a much longer trip to ride so far down,” mused Reginnvaldr. “And you’ll still have to travel by ship at least across the channel, but it shouldn’t be too difficult. We can give you means to purchase voyage across with a mount.” Reginnvaldr frowned in concentration and worried his lips. His speech got faster, like he was trying to account for every possible obstacle Gavin could encounter in seconds. “But you can’t defend yourself yet. Though a fair number of your devout holy travel across Persia without means of protection and they’re largely unscathed. Or are they? No that’d never do. I’d send you across with a ship of your own, but I can’t imagine a single man charting a vessel like that. Instead—”</p><p>    “Val!” Gavin interrupted, and he was glad he did for Reginnvaldr looked nearly out of breath at that point and clearly still had more to say. “It’s—it’s fine, Val. We don’t have to think about this now, we can take some time. Mǫgr promised me fighting lessons anyways, he’ll get me in shape.” </p><p>    It clearly didn’t quell any of Reginnvaldr’s anxieties, but he nodded like he agreed and pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. His knees were stained with mud. “Then I suppose I’ll excuse Mǫgr from his duties tomorrow and you two can start your lessons.” </p><p>    Gavin smiled weakly in an attempt at normalcy and hoped it didn’t come across as strained as it felt. He wanted to reach out and take Reginnvaldr’s hand in his again, but he could <em>feel</em> how his confession shifted everything. Gods, in this moment, it didn’t feel worth it to fight so desperately for some nebulous idea of freedom and give up the privilege of Reginnvaldr’s touch. Of Jack’s friendship. Of what he’d made here so far.</p><p>    “You’re excusing Mǫgr’s duties but not mine?” Gavin teased half-heartedly. “It’ll be hard for me to hold a sword in the <em>stofa</em> but as long as you don’t mind the smashed bowls…” </p><p>    Reginnvaldr huffed a laugh and began leading them back to the great hall. “You know you’re in charge of all that, right? You set your own schedule.”</p><p>    Gavin blinked. “Oh.”</p><p>    “Oh,” Reginnvaldr agreed. “Does this mean you’ll be sleeping until noon now?”</p><p>    “Don’t think I could sleep until noon if I tried, to be honest,” Gavin said. He allowed Reginnvaldr to open the hall door for him and followed him inside. The hall smelled wonderful, Lindsay had likely been cooking with her apprentices since the morning for yet another unbearable feast that evening and the smell of slow-cooking meat made Gavin’s mouth water.</p><p>    “I’ve gotta say, I have absolutely no desire to go back to that meeting,” Gavin groused.</p><p>    “Me neither,” Reginnvaldr agreed. “And luckily for us both it looks like they’re already done.” He nodded towards Jack who was approaching them with a stony face. “What was the damage?” He asked Jack.</p><p>    “Well, they weren’t very happy, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replied solemnly. “Trausti’s a got a silver tongue, you know that. He salvaged the rest of it as best he could. I’d suggest refraining from darting out tomorrow, though.” He nodded and turned to leave but Gavin couldn’t let him get away and still be upset with him.</p><p>    “Wait, Jack!” He grabbed Jack’s arm and yanked hard, which only resulted in them both stumbling and nearly falling to the ground. He ignored Jack’s irritated grumble and launched into a too-fast speech. “Jack, Jack, I’m so sorry Jack. I didn’t mean to make you upset and I didn’t mean to say I wasn’t happy here, I am happy here Jack. And you being upset makes <em>me</em> upset so just forgive me already so I don’t have to be upset that you’re upset anymore.”</p><p>    Jack snorted and shook his head but thankfully didn’t pull away from Gavin’s grip. He was even smiling which Gavin took as a good sign. “You’re such a dick.” But as he said it, he gave Gavin a half-hug. “I’m sorry too. I was hurt and overreacted.” </p><p>    “It’s fine Jack. Can you stop being mad at me now so I can make faces at you at supper tonight?”</p><p>    That got a laugh out of the other omega and Gavin beamed at the sound. They would be okay. And more importantly, he’d have someone to make long-suffering expressions at during whatever hell tonight’s feast promised to be.</p><p>    “I’m a bit knackered though to be honest,” Gavin said, a yawn puncturing his sentence to prove his point. “Think I’ve got time for a kip before supper?”</p><p>    Jack, used to Gavin’s nonsensical words, and a champion of discerning the meaning of those words from context snorted and nodded. “Take Reginnvaldr with you, he’ll need that rest—cranky bastard.”</p><p>    They ignored Reginnvaldr’s noise of protest and Gavin pulled him along back to their chambers. He realized near their door that he was still holding Reginnvaldr’s hand, but didn’t let go, even when he felt the blush trying to crawl up his neck. Once inside the room with the door closed, the racket from the hall muffled to a tolerable degree and Gavin allowed his shoulders to slump and spine to slouch. It was so peaceful in their room, such a stark contrast to the chaos of Eyesteinn’s arrival. A contrast even from the day-to-day duties Gavin took upon himself. Part of him wanted to nest in the rich goose feather bed and never leave.</p><p>    “I imagine we have a little over an hour before we’re needed,” Reginnvaldr said. He cracked his neck and groaned. “I’m not even going to bother to undress. Don’t judge me too harshly.”</p><p>    “I’m sure Oðinn will turn a blind eye this time,” Gavin joked. He caught Reginnvaldr’s smile before he turned and it made his heart soar. When Reginnvaldr began to situate himself on the ground, however, Gavin was filled with a distinct sense of ‘no’. The comfort of the room diminished rapidly with the more Reginnvaldr got comfortable on the floor.</p><p>    “Val,” Gavin said before he could stop himself. “Don’t— come… Come up here.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr’s expression was akin to a child being told they were to receive a dragon for yuletide; wide-eyed, disbelieving but almost daring to hope. It filled Gavin with giddiness. He scooted to one side of the bed and pat the space next to him. </p><p>    Slowly, like he was trying not to startle Gavin—or, perhaps, to give him an opportunity to take it back—Reginnvaldr walked to the bed and sat down on the edge. He was still wide eyed and Gavin thought it a bit funny that the man who scented him like an animal last night was so skittish and unsure of napping in the same bed.</p><p>    “Just lie down on the damn bed, Val,” Gavin huffed, the humor evident in his tone. It was cute, Reginnvaldr being so nervous, but Gavin was tired and Reginnvaldr was warm and smelled good. </p><p>    “I suppose it’d be a good way to get more scent transfer…” Reginnvaldr said, like he was trying to convince himself there was a rational, logical explanation for napping with someone. Gavin rolled his eyes but didn’t reply, instead choosing to lay down himself and insistently pat the space next to him until he felt the bed dip with Reginnvaldr’s weight.</p><p>    He was comfortable, in the down feather bed, next to Reginnvaldr. It felt safe. </p><p>    “I hope someone wakes us before Eyesteinn gets antsy,” Reginnvaldr mumbled. Gavin lazily flung a hand towards his face to shush Reginnvaldr.</p><p>    “Shh, I just want a kip before it all,” he said. “Less talking, more sleeping.”</p><p>    He heard, more than felt Reginnvaldr hum in response, and Gavin must have dozed off for much longer than he meant to because when he awoke it was to blazing heat and a dark room. He wiggled on the bed to try and escape the heat, but it followed him. His throat hurt and when he coughed, it worsened. And that’s when he noticed the smoke.</p><p>    The smell was overwhelming. Gavin gagged on the scent, trying to find clean air through the haze. Gods, why was there smoke? Why was it so hot? He stumbled to the door and flung it open only to see too-bright oranges and yellows dancing along the wood.</p><p>    The longhouse is on fire, Gavin realized, my home is on fire.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well. I did say it was a fire chapter, that wasn't a lie &gt;:)</p><p>Historical fun:</p><p>1) Being a warrior and not a chief or noble, Michael would be more likely to worship Thor or Tyr instead of Odin. Hence his "Þórr fucking help me.”</p><p>2) The volva priestess's ritual is based on Sigurd Hakonsson’s blót</p><p>3) A þing (literally pronounced 'Thing') was a assembly between various tribes/clans/families in a region or super-region. They might solve disputes, perform public religious ceremonies, or hold the equivalent of court/parliament at a Thing. If you take anything away from this fic, I hope it's that the Vikings were an impressively established, intelligent, and skilled peoples. Quite unlike popular modern depictions no?</p><p>4) The dirhams Eyesteinn offers are an Arabic silver coin. Remember how all the gold mines dried up post-Roman empire? Silver was more accessible. Additionally, the general Scandinavian peoples (including those with the Viking profession) traded a GREAT deal with Islamdom. Over 80k dirham pieces were found in Viking-age excavations from Gotland Sweden alone!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A thousand and one thank yous to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a> who beta'd this chapter for me!<br/>Danheim's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2snGxzABIWo">Fimbul Radio</a> to set the mood.<br/>There is violence, dangerous situations, and minor character death in this chapter. If you need explicit warnings, I will list them (along with a brief summary of the chapter in case you need to skip) in the end notes. If you've seen the Lord of the Rings films, it's about on that level, maybe a tad more blood and suspense. Take care of yourselves, lovely people!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 8</p><p>    Eyes still gummy with sleep, Gavin allowed Reginnvaldr to shove him out their room and down the hall. Doors were flung open and debris littered the floors. Things strewn on the floors, knocked off the table like his friends had fled so fast they hadn’t bothered to watch their way. Reginnvaldr took his hand and pulled him along to the feast hall. And that must have been the cause of all the smoke; the roof was ablaze.</p><p>    “Come,” Reginnvaldr croaked, voce gravely like he was sick, and Gavin let him lead the way through the hall. Time was passing oddly, too oddly for Gavin to lead them. His body moved about like he was wading through molasses, but his mind moved so quickly that he noticed the silverware on the table clink to the floor when a piece of the roof fell and rattled the table. Sparks flew, blinding Gavin momentarily and making him stumble over bits of burning wood.</p><p>    It was hot. Gavin couldn’t remember being this hot before, even when he first went into heat as a child in the deep of Northumbrian summer. He imagined he could feel the heat scorching his skin, cooking him slowly like a pig on a spit as he passed the roaring flames.</p><p>    “Fuck!” he heard Reginnvaldr yell. It was almost quiet compared to the crackling of burning wood and crashing pieces of roof. Gavin pulled his eyes away from the pelts on the walls— slowly unraveling as flames ate away at their hair— and fixed his gaze to where Reginnvaldr was looking.</p><p>    The two heavy doors were open but their frames were collapsed, leaving a gap of only a few feet open at the very top. Fuck was right. There was no way either of them could get through that gap. Not without severe burns.</p><p>    Gavin distantly recalled a smith’s apprentice in Bamburgh proper that had a burn so severe on his arm that his flesh had dripped off the bone. A doctor had been called but the boy died before he could arrive. It was such a ghastly story that the townspeople spoke about it years later, though the smith maintained the boy ought to have known not to touch the burning logs in the forge.</p><p>    No, Gavin decided, he wouldn’t see himself and Reginnvaldr dead. Not like this, not now. A moment of inspiration hit him, surprisingly clear amidst the smoke.</p><p>Gavin darted back to their bedroom, ignoring Reginnvaldr’s panicked cry after him. They needed to climb over burning logs, they could cover the logs with furs and get through before the flames consumed the hair.</p><p>    Their bedroom was so smoky that he could barely see his own hand in front of his face, but thankfully still free of fire. Gavin stumbled towards the bed and pulled at the cloaks lying atop, grabbing at least two. He wrapped one around himself and clutched the other tightly. He rushed back to Reginnvaldr in the main hall, who was slamming himself bodily against the burning wood and Gavin could already see singed clothing and blistering skin.</p><p>    “Idiot!” Gavin yelled hoarsely. “Take this.” He held out the fur and realized he’d grabbed the shaggy cloak that once belong to Reginnvaldr’s father. Well, Gavin supposed, there’s no better test to its magic than this.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr threw the cloak upon the burning wood and grabbed Gavin. Before he could process what was happening, Reginnvaldr was lifting him up and throwing him through the small gap between the burning wood. Gavin landed on top of the cloak with a muted creak and for a moment, he worried the fire-weakened wood would disintegrate beneath him. He wiggled through the gap quickly until he fell to the cold dirt outside. A half whine slipped through his lips, but was cut off by a great rasping cough.</p><p>    Though he wanted nothing more than to lay in the dirt, breathing in the blessedly clean air, Reginnvaldr was still trapped inside and Gavin’s instincts roared at the thought of him dying in there.</p><p>    He forced himself to his feet and stumbled to the gap, standing on his toes and craning his neck to peer inside. “Val!” he yelled. “Jump, I’ll give you my hand!”</p><p>    Without waiting for a reply, Gavin stuck his hand through the gap and seconds later, felt Reginnvaldr grip it tight. Gavin drove his feet into the ground and pulled hard while he felt Reginnvaldr haul himself up and through the gap. He must have shifted the cloak in doing so because Gavin felt his arm press into the wood and <em>burn</em>. The memory of the apprentice boy and his melting skin flashed in Gavin’s mind but the feeling of Reginnvaldr’s hand on his own, the weight of his body being held up by him alone, had Gavin gritting his teeth and bearing the pain, even as Reginnvaldr’s scrambling pressed his tender skin further in to the embers.</p><p>    With a great crack, the doors folded in on themselves, sealing the hall up completely, and Reginnvaldr tumbled out of the gap, collapsing on top of Gavin. Gavin wheezed at the weight of a massive alpha northman on top of him but wrapped his arms around him anyways, holding him close and likely pressing bruises into Reginnvaldr’s skin with how tightly he clung.</p><p>    Another loud crack and a shower of sparks jolted Reginnvaldr into action. “We need to move.” Reginnvaldr croaked with a smoke-hoarse voice. He helped Gavin to his feet and unsheathed his sword from his belt.</p><p>    “You had time to grab a sword and belt?” Gavin asked, feeling a hysterical giggle spill out in his words. As soon as he asked, however, Gavin heard a woman’s scream in the near distance and the unmistakeable clatter of iron against shield. The mania of escaping the flames evaporated and fear filled his body like ice, steadfast and cold despite his proximity to his burning hall. Reginnvaldr took Gavin’s hand and made it wrap around the back of his sword belt.</p><p>    “Stay behind me, stay close, hold on to my belt. If I tell you to run, you run,” he said. Gavin swallowed once, gripped the leather tighter, and nodded.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr moved quickly and precisely, but Gavin wished he didn’t, because each step took them further into the town and frightened him more The sounds of fighting grew louder and Gavin was shaking in the suspense.</p><p>    A yell, a crack, and suddenly the old farmhouse they usually used for animal feed burst into flames. Gavin screamed as it illuminated the world around them in reds and yellows. A body, eyes open and jaw slack lay in the farmhouse’s entrance, blood slowly trickling from its exposed skull and staining the dirt a red so dark it looked black.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr shifted into a readied stance, his left hand holding Gavin behind him and his right hand holding his sword aloft and defensive.</p><p>    Gods, the smell of fire mingled with the smell of fresh blood. Iron and smoke melding into a horrific scent that Gavin felt coating his tongue. He tore his eyes away from the body to gaze further into Ribe. Several other houses were on fire and the screaming was getting louder.</p><p>    A man, without helm but armor-clad and wielding an axe and round shield charged at Reginnvaldr with a feral-sounding yell. Gavin jumped but before his confused instincts could decide what to do, Reginnvaldr had cut the man down, showering himself in blood and viscera. Gavin gagged hard at the sight, even half hidden behind Reginnvaldr’s body.</p><p>    He gagged harder when the hand he covered his mouth with also proved covered in spots of the man’s blood.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr sparred him a look, but pressed forward without any word. The farther in they went, the more fires seemed to burn, the more bodies seemed to litter the ground, until Gavin was wading through corpses, drowning in blood, choking on smoke and bile and terror.</p><p>    “Reginnvaldr!” Trausti called, waving them over to where he stood, surrounded by bodies and clad in his formal clothes, now covered in filth and blood. A hefty great axe rested on his shoulder. He spoke quickly and precisely. “Thank the Æsir you’re alright. It’s the dread cow, its cry rattled our minds. Eyesteinn used it so he could set fires to the houses, then he ambushed.”</p><p>    “Death by flames or death by the sword,” Gavin murmured. His voice sounded distant and reedy to his own ears. Like he was listening to himself from miles away.</p><p>    “Yes,” Trausti agreed. “Jerbjǫrn and Mǫgr were making their way through the town last I saw. Your sister and Jakaupr were taking the fight to Eyesteinn in the fallow field with some others.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr nodded but did not speak, only walked away towards the fallow fields leaving Gavin no choice but to follow. Gavin could hear Trausti call after them “What about Gavin?”</p><p>    Gavin felt like he was in a dream, disconnected from the carnage surrounding him. He trailed, half-blind, behind Reginnvaldr who still hadn’t said a word and who still held his sword perfectly aloft, no sign of exhaustion.</p><p>    They didn’t run into anyone else alive on their way to the fallow field and Reginnvaldr still said nothing. It frightened Gavin; he’d feel better with Reginnvaldr speaking, reassuring him, telling him that everything would be okay. He wanted to bury his face in Reginnvaldr’s back, see if he could comfort himself with his scent amidst the smell of death permeating the air. But doing so might startle or unbalance Reginnvaldr, and that was the last thing they needed when hell raged around them and Reginnvaldr needed to be on guard.</p><p>    The fallow field came into view and Gavin wanted to drag Reginnvaldr the opposite way. Have them run far away from the terror and chaos. He wanted them to go <em>home</em>.</p><p>    But home was a burning pile of wood right now. Home <em>was</em> this raging hell. The thought pulled at Gavin’s instincts and made a dry sob wrench its way through his mouth. There was nowhere to go, no way to flee. His home was here, his <em>pack</em> was here. Jack, and Geoff, and Lindsay, everyone he’d grown close to. He <em>had</em> to press forward with Reginnvaldr. There was nowhere else for them.</p><p>    The field itself, despite being held fallow without crop to keep them green, was on fire. Torches, dripping with tallow littered the ground and Gavin could see flaming arrows embedded in corpses, their fire slowly spreading to consume clothing and flesh. The field was large, but it seemed to be overwhelmed with the number of bodies fighting. Gavin could scarcely tell friend from foe.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr growled and Gavin peered around him to try and see what evoked such a reaction—the most he’d given to indicate his thoughts since they’d left the longhouse— and saw a shining helmet atop a heavily armored body a hundred paces away. The figure was a powerhouse, swinging its heavy axe around with ease. It lifted the axe above its head and swung.</p><p>
  <em>    Crack!</em>
</p><p>    Whoever the figure had been fighting collapsed and did not move. </p><p>    “Reginnvaldr!” That was Jack’s voice and Gavin’s head swiveled to where he’d heard him. He was half armored, arm braces and a kidney belt his only protection. The closer he got, the clearer it was that his beard was soaked from blood and smattered with gore. Gavin could even seen blood in his teeth.</p><p>    Jack didn’t look like his friend he looked… he looked like…</p><p>    Like a heathen. </p><p>    Like how he probably looked to the soldiers at castle Bamburgh. Gavin couldn’t find it in himself to care, not now when it could frighten Eyesteinn’s men instead.</p><p>    “None of your council died, but Jerbjǫrn’s got some bad burns from the house. They tried to burn the wheat but Mǫgr’s berserking and stopped them. We’ll still have food.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr nodded but still did not speak and still kept his sword aloft. And he seemed unfocused, gaze continuously returning to the shining helmet and head swiveling when any noise sounded nearby.</p><p>    Before Gavin could process the action, he was on the ground, dirt smearing his face and Reginnvaldr’s body holding him in place. His first instinct was to worry Reginnvaldr was hurt and had collapsed, but he couldn’t smell blood any stronger than he already could, and Reginnvaldr’s scent didn’t project hurt. With a growl, Reginnvaldr got to his feet and hoisted Gavin up.</p><p>    An arrow was stuck deep into the ground, right where Gavin had been standing before Reginnvaldr tackled him. He was still growling, sharp eyes pointed at the area from where the arrow had flown. Instead of staying with Gavin or linking his hand back on his belt, Reginnvaldr nodded to Jack and stalked off.</p><p>    “What—?” Gavin started asking, but Jack yelled and shoved Gavin behind him.</p><p>    The clatter of iron against wood sounded. Then, wood splitting.</p><p>    Jack stumbled hard, arms waving about as he tried to regain balance. Gavin saw his opponent raise a hand axe, preparing for the final strike and Gavin felt a wave of rage overcome him.</p><p>    Giving a yell much louder than any sound he’d made before, Gavin charged the warrior and toppled them both over. It was only seconds before Gavin saw the warrior lift his axe and shove Gavin back to get a swing in. </p><p>    He was going to die here. Right now. He was going to die.</p><p>    A great squelching noise and the sound of liquid splattering had Gavin opening eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed. But instead of pain and a world beyond what lay on this mortal coil, Gavin saw Jack’s worried face, covered in more grime. Caked in blood and…chunks of—</p><p>    Something slimy slid down Gavin’s cheek and he scraped it away only to find a bit of flesh sticking to his fingers. He gagged hard and glanced back to Jack only to gag harder when he could make out individual pieces of flesh sticking to the corners of his mouth. </p><p>    Gods above, Gavin could feel the blood cracking as it dried on his skin. His roiling stomach, already tight with anxiety and churning with fear finally gave in. </p><p>    Thankfully, Jack was quick enough to back away before the vomit hit him.</p><p>    A few dry retches followed and Gavin felt exhausted. He almost wanted to collapse on the ground, but the clanging of iron and screams of the dying kept him upright. Adrenaline was fading from his spirit and he was tired from the hyper-vigilance and fear. He went to wipe the vomit-induced tears from his eyes but stopped when he remembered the gore and filth coating his hands.</p><p>    “Gavin,” Jack said. “Can you walk?”</p><p>    Gavin nodded, finding his throat too sore to speak. Jack extended a hand which Gavin gratefully took. His legs shook fiercely and he felt like a newborn deer taking its first steps, but he could stand.</p><p>    “Thank you,” was all Jack said once Gavin was on his feet, which he appreciated. They didn’t have time for grandiose declarations of gratitude. And frankly, Gavin thought he might burst into tears if Jack tried to thank him further.</p><p>    “We need to keep moving,” Jack said. He didn’t keep Gavin entirely behind him like Reginnvaldr had, but did keep him a pace back. They passed a body of a man Gavin recognized from the town and Jack bent over to grab his axe, a little single-handed thing that looked better suited to chopping wood than killing. </p><p>    “I don’t know how to use it,” Gavin croaked. </p><p>    “Hit them with the sharp side,” was Jack’s reply.</p><p>    They made their way around the field. The ground moved beneath their feet, like being soaked in blood gave it a hellish life of its own. Gavin kept stumbling. First over rocks, and then over bodies. One of them was still warm and Gavin couldn’t help himself from looking. It was a young girl, with pale, freckled skin and blood matting her red-hair. A thick collar of hide cut into her cooling skin and grey eyes stared unseeing out at the stars. Ita, Eyesteinn’s omega girl. Was it one of Eyesteinn’s men that had killed her, dispatching a body in the way? Or was it one of his own clan, recognizing the harsh hide and thinking no further than thinning the enemy? Both options made Gavin want to scream.</p><p>    “REGINNVALDR!” Came a harsh screech. Gavin whipped his head around to see the shining helmet pounding his chest with a hand and lifting his massive great axe above his head with the other. The light from the fire bounced off his helm and shimmered. It was like the helmet was made of liquid gold.</p><p>    A guttural sound, almost like a growl but not as well formed, echoed though the field. It grew louder and Gavin didn’t ever hear it falter or pause. It echoed so strangely that he couldn’t pinpoint its origin.</p><p>    The sound of a shield being slammed repeatedly with a weapon drew Gavin’s gaze to Reginnvaldr. He had found a shield at some point and was banging it heavily with his sword. His eyes were gleaming, fire playing off them, warping the normally light blue color to something deep and terrifying.</p><p>    “Come fight me O’ Son of Ragnar!” The shining helmet called, taunting and haughty. It must have been Eyesteinn, though Gavin could scarcely recognize his voice behind the helm. “Or are you just as much a little boy playing king in battle as you are out of it?” </p><p>    Reginnvaldr didn’t react to the taunts, just continued with that eerie rolling roar of a noise. It was growing in volume though, and Reginnvaldr was getting closer to Eyesteinn. Gods no, <em>no</em>. Gavin didn’t want this to happen.</p><p>    With a horrible clatter, the two met. Iron clashing against iron, wood against amor, growls audible and terrific. Gavin couldn’t tear his gaze away, even as he heard Jack cut down another enemy just a few feet away. </p><p>    They were going to kill each other. They were going to kill each other and Gavin would be mateless.</p><p>    Eyesteinn was powerful, and each swing of his axe had Gavin’s heart leaping into his throat. Reginnvaldr kept dodging, weaving expertly around Eyesteinn’s swings and even crouching down to evade. He was like a serpent, lithe and dangerous.</p><p>    But Eyesteinn was a rampaging bull. And Gavin didn’t know how much longer Reginnvaldr could keep evading before he grew tired. He’d have to strike at some point, and Eyesteinn was so heavily armored Gavin thought any attempt might be the end of Reginnvaldr’s life.</p><p>    Gods, Reginnvaldr was going to die. He was going to die either by exhaustion or by trying to strike. He was going to die. There was no way he could survive this.</p><p>    Gavin’s hand tightened on the poll of the woodcutting axe and he felt a calm wash over him, dulling the sounds of battle around him. His heart beat heavily in his chest. The blood rushed in his ears. It was quiet. </p><p>    He took a step forward. Then another one. </p><p>    He readied the axe in front of him, feeling its weight settle and strain his muscles. </p><p>    “GAVIN!” </p><p>    He was shoved to the ground by an irate looking Mǫgr. His curls were matted with sweat and blood and he looked pissed beyond anything Gavin had seen before. Which was saying something.</p><p>    “You fucking idiot, what was your plan? Rush in and die?” Mǫgr’s eyes flashed wildly and he shook Gavin’s shoulders, even as he pressed him into the ground. “You die and Reginnvaldr loses his mind?” </p><p>    Gavin blinked and the last of the strange calm vanished from his vision with another shake from Mǫgr. He realized how stupid his plan was, no matter what his instincts said, but fuck, it didn’t matter!  </p><p>    “He needs help!” Gavin yelled back, though his voice was nearly gone. “He’s going to die! He’s going to die!” </p><p>    Mǫgr got off Gavin and looked over to where Reginnvaldr and Eyesteinn fought. He cursed and ran towards them with a harsh “Stay there!” thrown towards Gavin. </p><p>    Gavin let out a scream of frustration so hoarse it didn’t make it out of his throat. He wanted to get to his feet and follow. To protect. </p><p>    He couldn’t let Reginnvaldr die.</p><p>    It took so much for Gavin to shove himself to his feet. Falling to the ground had sapped him of his energy. His feet ached, his muscles sore and trembling from adrenaline. He’d never felt so tired before. Like his blood was replaced with lead. Like his heart was furiously pumping to its last beats. He rose to standing nonetheless, spurred on by some internal light. He stumbled a step towards Reginnvaldr. Then another.</p><p>    He tripped over a corpse, still warm and leaking blood. His vision warped when he hit the ground. Reginnvaldr and Eyesteinn blurred into reflective shapes dancing around each other like firelight on glass. Gavin blinked and felt liquid pour down his face, into his eyes. He was bleeding.</p><p>    Mǫgr darted in then, a round shield in his left hand and an axe in his other. He swung once at Eyesteinn’s back. He must have caught him because Gavin heard a yell, but he couldn't see well enough to know for sure. </p><p>    Gavin tried heaving himself up, but his head felt like it was being pressed into the ground and moving it made darkness seep into the edges of his vision. </p><p>    It hurt. Everything hurt. But Reginnvaldr was—</p><p>    A shout, the clang of iron against itself and then a scream and the sound of liquid. Gavin opened his mouth to yell, but the world blurred further and the blackness creeping in consumed him. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Potentially upsetting material/summary: Reginnvaldr and Gavin must escape the burning hall. Gavin's arm is burned. Reginnvaldr is not himself from this point on and does not speak, upsetting and worrying Gavin. They walk through Ribe, Gavin sees dead bodies. They meet Jack in the fallow field, where Eyesteinn is fighting. Reginnvaldr leave Jack with Gavin and fights Eyesteinn. Jack cuts down an enemy, spattering icky things around. Gavin sees Ita's corpse. Gavin gets concussed. He passes out while watching Reginnvaldr and Eyesteinn fight from a distance.</p><p>No distinctly historical aspects to this chapter (I know can you believe it!?) I instead wanted to take a moment and thank everyone who has commented/kudos'd on this fic. It really means the world to me and has been a balm to the hectic stress of my GAship and other life nonsense. Even the shortest comments make my entire day and I can't tell you all how often I go back and reread them when I'm feeling down. Lots of love! &lt;3 </p><p>Also a lil' tease (but not a compliments grackle): Remember when I said this was not just a 'slow burn' but a 'very slow burn' in the tags? Yeah :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>All the love and thanks in the world to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a> who not only edited this chapter for me, but created the beautiful moodboards I've added to chapters one and two! I'm absolutely giddy with delight at them! I didn't think people made moodboards or fanart anymore and I'm SO happy to be proven wrong!</p><p>The song Lindsay sings at the end <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FnkTuHP9q3o">here</a><br/>Lastly, a thanks to everyone who has kudos'd/commented &lt;3 You've been keeping me sane!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 9</p><p>    Gavin awoke in stages. </p><p>    First, he could feel sun warming his face and a fur wrapped tightly around his chest. </p><p>    Second, he could smell smoke, but it was distant. Like a campfire. More prominently was the smell of meat cooking. He could feel his stomach growl at the thought of sneaking a piece for the first meal. Maybe he’d get lucky and convince Lindsay to give him bacon from the scraps.</p><p>    Then was the noises. He could hear a cow mooing, which was odd, because unless it was out of its pen and standing right by his room outside, why should he hear a cow in the morning? </p><p>    Ultimately, it was the cow that jolted him to full wakefulness. Gavin’s eyes shot open and he instantly groaned at the brightness searing them. He shut them just as quickly and worked instead on cracking his eyes open little by little until they adjusted. </p><p>    The sun hurt more than it should have; perhaps it was the hazy light that pained him so, but Gavin could hardly look around without squinting. Smoke and thin cloud cover made the daylight hard to process and he wished he had some way to block out the light but still see.</p><p>    The next step was to sit up, but Gavin was finding it much harder than anticipated. His entire body ached like he’d been trampled by horses. His head in particular spun dangerously when he tried to move it and he felt on the verge of throwing up whenever he moved it. God he’d never felt so bad before. Even his first heat had been easier to bear than the soreness of his muscles and ache within his bones.</p><p>    Another attempt to sit up finally got him there, but it hurt so much Gavin wondered if it was worth it. He instantly groaned, his throat sticking uncomfortably against its own dryness.</p><p>    “Gavin!” came a voice. He turned towards the sound and thought he saw the outline of Lindsay jogging towards him. She came upon him and crouched down to help Gavin sit up properly. </p><p>    “Linds—?” he tried. “Linds—ay… Wha’ hap—pened?” </p><p>    “Shh, drink some water. We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she replied, voice a soft murmur. He obeyed and let her hold a waterskin to his mouth. It felt like ice down his throat and it hurt, but he was grateful for it. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he’d been until the skin was dry. He resisted the urge to keep sucking the dry skin and pulled away.</p><p>    Thirst sated and throat clearer, he tried again. “Lindsay, what happened? Is everyone okay?”</p><p>    She pursed her lips tightly until they all but disappeared. Her lovely eyes were strained with worry, and in that moment she looked much older than her youthful face might suggest. “We lost a lot of good people.”</p><p>    “Who?” Gavin asked, voice hoarse for a different reason this time. Panic overcame him and he couldn’t stop his voice from shaking. “Who, Lindsay? Who died? Lindsay! Who died?!”</p><p>    She gave a wan smile and placed her hand on his arm, holding him still. Gavin hadn’t even realized he was making to get to his feet. “Some of Reginnvaldr’s warriors, I don’t think you’d know them, at least not beyond passing. Bjarni, Vaughn, Brynjolf, Trausti, Lav—“</p><p>    “Wait, Trausti. He was at the council meeting with Eyesteinn.” Gavin remembered. The thin man with those dark eyes, the one that they saw in town last night. Gavin didn’t know him well, but he knew he was sharp, that he was important. He knew Reginnvaldr liked him. </p><p>    “Yeah, he’s one of Reginnvaldr’s best negotiators,” Lindsay paused and sucked in a shaky breath. “Was, he was one of Reginnvaldr’s best negotiators…Gods. He had a mind on him like no other.”</p><p>    Gavin blinked and shook his head only for it to throb painfully. He hissed at the pain immediately stilled. Lindsay hummed sympathetically and rubbed his back. “Your mind’s been shaken. You’ll need to rest quite a bit before the pain goes away.”</p><p>    “My mind’s been shaken,” Gavin said, so focused on not throwing up from pain that the question fell flat.</p><p>    “It can happens if you hit your head hard enough.” Lindsay got to her feet and offered a hand, which Gavin took gratefully. The transition from sitting to standing had him reeling again but Lindsay mercifully let him lean on her until it passed. “I’m glad I found you, you know. We were all pretty worried when we couldn’t.”</p><p>    When the world stopped spinning from under him and his head no longer felt like it would split open, Gavin held himself up. Lindsay’s arm still offered  balance though as she carefully led them towards the great hall. It was slow going, what with Gavin’s shakiness, and the debris and bodies littering the ground. Gavin stared steadfastly ahead to avoid seeing the death. Maybe it made him weak, but he already felt queasy enough without the added visuals.</p><p>    “What happened?” Gavin asked quietly. </p><p>    “I only know bits and pieces, Mjǫll pulled me away from the worst of it.”  She was silent for a beat, before clearing her throat. “She and Reginnvaldr had to leave.”</p><p>    “What?” </p><p>    “They had to leave. As soon as the worst of it was over, Reginnvaldr rounded up his elite fighters and rode off towards the mountains.” </p><p>    He just left? Gavin blinked back the tears that suddenly and inexplicably flooded his eyes. He was hurt. He thought Reginnvaldr would have at least stayed long enough to say goodbye. He turned his head away from Lindsay so she couldn’t see the tears threatening to spill. She must have sensed it anyway because her next words were soft.</p><p>    “Eyesteinn fled as soon as it was clear he wouldn’t win without heavy losses. If Reginnvaldr let him go for even a day, he’d be harder to track.”</p><p>    “Did he say when he was going to be back?” Gavin hated how small his voice sounded, how whiny and pitiful and <em>omegean</em>. </p><p>    “Not too long I’m sure,” Lindsay evaded. “But you’ve got all us here for you. I know you and Jakaupr are closest and none of us can compare to your mate, but we’re still here. And we’ll still help you.”</p><p>    “Thanks Linds,” Gavin said. He sniffled once, slightly embarrassed by the sound, but couldn’t find it in himself to take comfort in the others being there. Couldn’t think of comfort without Reginnvaldr nearby. </p><p>    The longhouse was almost entirely in shambles. Thin tendrils of residual smoke leaked from the place, like a bonfire at the end of its life. A few bedrolls had been laid around the house and atop them lay those too wounded to walk. One bedroll caught his attention in that its occupant was screaming string after string of profanities at a figure kneeling by his leg.</p><p>    “Stefi if you even fucking think about touching my leg again I swear to all the gods and their tree itself that I will break your fucking face!” Mǫgr yelled.</p><p>    The figure kneeling, who must have been Stefi, snorted and stood. “He’s well enough to be making threats,” she said to a thin woman to his side. “So as long as we keep an eye on the wound and clean it appropriately, there shouldn’t be any great danger.”</p><p>    The thin woman nodded and leaned down to flick one of Mǫgr’s ears. “Better be quiet and listen to healer’s orders or I’ll beat you up.” He growled at the woman and batted her hand away.</p><p>    “Finna,” Lindsay called, and the thin woman immediately raised her head. “I found Gavin, can you take a look at him?” The woman—Finna—nodded and sparred Lindsay a tight smile. Finna was short and thin, but something in her presence spoke of power. Perhaps it was how her entire head was covered in ornate braids, or perhaps her shrewd and piercing eyes. Gavin couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen her before, but then he’d barely acquainted himself with half of Ribe, let alone all five-hundred inhabitants; missing someone was to be expected. </p><p>    “I’m fine,” he said, itching to move away from her sharp gaze. “Just bumped my head a bit it’s—“ Gavin broke off with a hiss when Finna nudged his arm in her examination. He hadn’t even realized it was hurt until she’d brushed against it. She frowned and lifted his arm up, gasping when she looked. </p><p>    “What? What happened? What’s wrong with my arm?” Gavin rotated his arm, still held in Finna’s grasp, and craned his neck to try and see the ailment. It was at such an odd angle that he could only just see the beginnings of an irritated red peeking over the flesh.</p><p>    “You idiot!” Finna growled. “You fucking moron. How did you not notice your arm’s burned?”</p><p>    Gavin made a noise of disagreement and made to pull his arm away. Finna wasn’t having it though and smacked his hand hard. “Lindsay didn’t see it either! Why are you blaming me?” He looked around to try and find Lindsay but she seemed to have conveniently vanished in the face of Finna’s ire.</p><p>    Finna scoffed and didn’t reply. She pulled Gavin to an empty bedroll and forced him to sit. “Stefi, can you come here please? Gavin’s hurt.” So quickly it had Gavin blinking in surprise, Stefi was knelt beside him. She was a short beta woman and wore an apron stained with all manners of unpleasantness. Gavin tried his hardest not to look too closely at the stains.</p><p>    A slew of curses flew out Stefi’s mouth and she barked several sharp orders to Finna and a few other healers nearby. Within a few minutes, a pot of boiling water, strips of linen, and some animal bone with symbols carved into the surface were placed on the bedroll beside him. Stefi and Finna were quick and ruthless in cleaning his burn and it took all Gavin had not to scream at the pain.</p><p>    “How did it happen?” Stefi asked in that no-nonsense voice of hers. Gavin grit his teeth as hot water and linen scrubbed away at the skin. He took a shuddering breath before replying through his teeth. </p><p>    “Must have been when we were fleeing the hall,” he said. “Trying to get Val out through the wood—“ He abruptly stopped speaking when a scraping feeling started on the burn and put all his willpower into holding still and not thrashing about.</p><p>    “You and Reginnvaldr were in the great hall?” Finna asked, surprise evident in her voice. “How did you not awake when the fighting broke out?” Then without waiting for a reply, “How did you not burn alive?”</p><p>    Thankfully, the scraping feeling stopped and Gavin could finally think beyond the pain. “Honestly if it wasn’t for the heat, I doubt I’d have woken up before it was too late. We didn’t hear anything at all.”</p><p>    “That’s because Eyesteinn and his Dread Cow use <em>seiðr</em>. He must have woven the fates against you. Absolutely barbaric, an alpha using magic.”</p><p>    Gavin raised his eyebrows at that but said nothing. He wasn’t entirely sold on the idea of magic, and it honestly made him a bit queasy to think about having grown up with the church. The feeling of a cold paste being pressed into his burn had Gavin starting. Whatever Stefi was rubbing on him smelled odd, sharp and minty but also clean like leeks.</p><p>    “It’s no matter now,” Stefi said. Gavin felt a strip of cloth wind tightly around his arm and he shuddered at the feeling of it squishing the balm. “What’s done is done. We’re lucky they survived.” </p><p>    With his arm finally returned to him, Gavin gingerly let it rest. He was hyperaware of its swing and each time it brushed his side he jumped despite not feeling any pain. Stefi gave him another look over to ensure he wasn’t accidentally hiding any other injury, and finally nodded. “You’ll be fine. You’re going to need to rest until your head heals, no jumping around and no difficult activity.”</p><p>    “I don’t <em>jump around</em>,” Gavin protested. “And I don’t need any rest anyways, I’m fine. We need to start doing things. Rebuilding? Taking inventory? Gods there’s so much to do, I need to go check on the stores.” Gavin made to get up from the bedroll, but Finna shoved him back down to sitting. </p><p>    “Uh, no. You <em>need</em> to lie down and rest. You’re no use to us dead,” she said. Her eyes glinted like she wanted him to fight back so she could really put him in his place, but Gavin <em>was</em> tired, he wouldn’t last a minute against Finna.</p><p>    But he couldn’t rest, not when they were without a roof over their heads. Not when he didn’t know how many were injured and dead, nor how much of their food had been burned, nor who stayed behind from chasing Eyesteinn. Whether he liked it or not, Gavin was the head of the clan with Reginnvaldr gone. He needed to act like it.</p><p>    “How many dead?” Gavin asked. “Lindsay gave me a few names but I want to know exactly.”</p><p>    Finna huffed and shoved Gavin enough that he nearly fell over. Stefi, ever the adult, ignored them. “We have seven dead on our side—Trausti among them, and three badly injured. Four, including you.”</p><p>    Gavin pushed the pain of loss away and tried to think pragmatically. It would do no one any good if he got caught up in sorrow and grief. He may not have personally known everyone that Eyesteinn killed, but they were his people. And that meant something.</p><p>    “Who are the three injured?” </p><p>    “Jerbjorn, Mǫgr, and Álfráðr. And you, of course. Everyone else has minor injuries. Bruises, some burns, cuts and scrapes. Nothing dangerous.”</p><p>    “Jerbjorn and Mǫgr would have gone with Reginnvaldr if they weren’t hurt.” </p><p>    “As would Álfráðr, though I suspect he'll be on his feet soon enough.” Stefi said. She nodded to Mǫgr who managed to look both pained and bored while he glared at the sky. “Mǫgr’s hurt badly, his leg is broken twice over and he’s got a wound on his thigh.”</p><p>    “I can hear you!” Mǫgr yelled, startling Gavin. </p><p>    “I don’t care!” Stefi singsonged back. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Gavin. “Jerbjorn is the worst off,” she said, gesturing to a bedroll behind her. Gavin craned his neck and saw an unconscious Jerbjorn laying on the bedroll. He was pale and shivering despite the cloak tucked around him.</p><p>    “Eyesteinn’s dread-cow got to him. They say if you hear it, your mind flees.” Finna whispered.</p><p>    “What can we do for him?” Gavin asked. </p><p>    “Not much more we can do,” Stefi replied. “We’ve given him all the help we can and the <em>vǫlva </em>have already given him their blessings. It’s up to Jerbjorn now.”</p><p>    Gavin didn’t like the sound of that, but he nodded anyways, a frown pulling heavily on his mouth. “What’s the state of our crops? Our stores?”</p><p>    Stefi and Finna shared a look and turned back to Gavin with shrugs. “I’m not sure,” Stefi said. “I’ve been with the injured and dead all day. Finna could go find someone that would know though.”</p><p>    “That’s perfectly alright, I’ll just go myself,” Gavin said. He ignored their protests and got to his feet. His head still hurt something terrible, but Gavin smiled wanly despite it. “I’m perfectly capable, Stefi. If it gets unbearable, I’ll have someone help me back.”</p><p>    Finna started to object more fervently, but Stefi interrupted her. “Let him go. He’ll bother us to no end if we keep him here,” she said. “I expect you back before supper though. Or I’ll have no problem tying you down until I deem you fit.” Nodding solemnly to show his understanding, Gavin walked as quickly as he dared towards Ribe proper. </p><p>    The town was a mess. The houses that had mostly escape the flames were still scorched and those that hadn’t escaped the flames were in total ruin. While there weren’t any more fires, Gavin passed people pouring water onto the still-smoldering embers littering charred houses. It was so quiet. The haze of smoke less than it was in the night, but thick enough to dampen everything. The light, the noise, the scents; everything was muted like the survivors feared another attack.</p><p>    The storehouse was miraculously intact, though the old barn beside it was nothing but charred wood and ash. The body Gavin vaguely remembered seeing the night before still lay facedown in the dirt, and he shivered at the sight before pointedly turning away. He didn’t know what they were meant to do with the bodies anyways.</p><p>    It was almost unnerving how unaffected this storehouse was. Save a few scorch marks on the outside, it was nearly untouched. Gavin began counting the bales of hay, the sacks of buckwheat, the containers of salted fish. He drew lines in the dirt with a stick to keep track of each stock and by the time he was finished counting and recounting the stores, his stomach was rumbling and his head felt like it weighed more than he himself did. </p><p>    He was satisfied though, or as close as it could get to it after all that had happened. This storehouse at least was fully stocked and if they rationed carefully, would feed them at least somewhat into the winter. He only hoped the other storehouse was similarly unaffected. </p><p>    With a pop of his knees and a groan, Gavin righted himself and stretched, careful to avoid moving his head or brushing his arm. He needed to check on the other storehouse and the animals. He needed to find Geoff and ask him how on earth he was meant to run an entire clan on his own without losing his mind. </p><p>    He missed Reginnvaldr. And now that counting the stores was no longer occupying his mind, he felt Reginnvaldr’s absence so sharply that it <em>hurt</em>. Perhaps he had to leave immediately to pursue Eyesteinn and his men, but to leave before Gavin awoke? He felt like a petulant child, foolish in their heartache. He wished Reginnvaldr would have said goodbye. He wished Reginnvaldr wouldn’t have left. He wished Eyesteinn hadn’t attacked at all. </p><p>    Gods, Gavin was exhausted. He would give anything to curl in bed with Reginnvaldr and burrow under the furs. To close his eyes and breathe in the scent of sweet woodsmoke and beeswax candles. That tender warmth lingered just on the edge of Gavin’s memory and he ached to return to it.</p><p>    “Gavin?” a voice called. Mindful of his head, Gavin turned slowly to see Geoff in the doorway of the storehouse. “Stefi told me I might find you here. How’re you doing, buddy?”</p><p>    Maybe it was the openly worried look on the normally carefree man. Maybe it was how he spoke, like Gavin was an animal he was trying not to spook. Maybe it was Geoff’s arms, open like he wanted to hug Gavin. Whatever it was, it had Gavin giving a soft cry and launching himself into Geoff’s arms. </p><p>    “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Geoff said quietly, gentling Gavin. He swayed them together, rocking Gavin like a child. “You’re okay buddy, you’re okay.” </p><p>    “Geoff, he’s gone Geoff,” Gavin said, the words coming out thick with tears. “Why didn’t he say goodbye? Why did he leave without saying goodbye?”</p><p>    Geoff make quiet shushing noises and rubbed Gavin’s back with one hand. He didn’t reply at first, just kept dragging his hand across Gavin’s back. The motion was soothing and despite his anxiety, Gavin felt calmed. “He had to leave right away, Gav. To chase Eyesteinn.”</p><p>    “Didn’t Jack say goodbye to you?” Gavin asked. His voice sounded small and choked. He didn’t want to hear Geoff’s answer, didn’t want confirmation.</p><p>    Geoff hesitated, but kept swaying as he held Gavin. “He did, but we were both conscious, and Jack knew where I was.” The hand on his back stilled, and Gavin found himself pulled to the ground next to Geoff before he could register the move. Geoff took his hand back, to Gavin’s disappointment. He had enjoyed the soothing rubs, even if they made him feel like a child.</p><p>    “He could’ve waited until I woke up. He could have found me,” said Gavin, even though he knew it was a wan protest. Geoff sighed heavily and pulled him closer, wrapping an arm around him. “You already know he couldn’t. He left as soon as Eyesteinn fled, still an <em>úlfhéðnar</em>.” Geoff glanced at Gavin and before he could ask said “A wolf warrior,” as if it explained everything.</p><p>    “But—” Gavin interrupted himself with a soft sob. “I miss him.”</p><p>    Geoff was silent at that, but hugged Gavin tighter. There was nothing to say that would help, after all. It was better to let the pain run its course than to harass it with platitudes. Though the tears fell embarrassingly freely and Gavin’s head spun, Geoff’s arm provided solace and warmth. The two sat in silence for so long that Gavin’s tears dried up and his bottom grew cold from the ground. </p><p>    “Come on, let’s get some food in you and call it a day,” Geoff said. Without waiting for a reply, he pulled Gavin to his feet and led him back towards the longhouse. Gavin was surprised at how late it had become. The sky was a dusky orange and the sun hovered low in the sky. The bedrolls were gone, and in their place stood a number of canvas tents. Fires littered the ground between the tents and Gavin was vividly reminded of the trip from Castle Bamburgh to Ribe; camping under the stars, protected only by lengths of canvas.</p><p>    Geoff led Gavin to one of the fires, his son Athie was snuggled in a cloak sleeping nearby and Gavin’s heart clenched in relief that the boy was fine. Someone had the foresight to roll logs and place stumps for sitting, for which Gavin was grateful. He’d had enough sitting on the cold ground for today. The fire crackled merrily and he could make out the beginnings of crickets playing tunes, but otherwise it was too silent. Every face he saw, softened by the growing shadow of night, was grim and aged with grief. </p><p>    “I brought you something to eat,” someone said, and Gavin glanced up to see Lindsay holding a steaming bowl. He smiled in thanks, but it felt brittle. There wasn’t a spoon.</p><p>    “Everyone’s whispering about what happens next,” Lindsay said in a hushed voice. “You should get a group together first thing tomorrow and decide what we do.”</p><p>    Gavin tipped the bowl and chewed a mouthful of the food—an onion porridge— before replying. “I’m not the best person to decide what we do,” he said. </p><p>    “And yet you’re the<em> yfir-fœða</em>, or you will be once you and Reginnvaldr mate. That means we look to you,” Lindsay said quietly. Gavin sighed but didn’t argue. She was right, of course, he’d already accepted he would need to somehow—<em>somehow</em>— lead his people back from the edge they’d been dragged to. But he still wasn’t the best choice.</p><p>    “I saw a girl dead last night,” He finally said. Lindsay didn’t react to his non sequitur beyond a deep sigh. He went on. “It was that… I don’t know the word. The forced serving girl from Eyesteinn’s clan. Ita.”</p><p>    “<em>Þrælar. </em>Slave,” Lindsay replied quietly. Ah, so that was the argument Reginnvaldr and Eyesteinn had during the peace talks. Eyesteinn offered them slaves and Reginnvaldr refused. Gavin was glad for that, the few bondservents that did putter around Ribe with eyes dead and hair unwashed made him uneasy as it was. </p><p>    “She was so young,” Gavin mused, letting the confusion and sorrow spill from his mouth unheeded. He wasn’t even sure if he had the right to feel sorrow over the girl’s death, it was likely one of <em>his</em> clansmen who killed her. “She was from that druid place. Ériu, I think.”</p><p>    “Mǫgr’s mother was from there,” Geoff chimed in softly. “He said the whole land was green and lush, and that gods walked among men openly. She fell in love with his father and left to Danmǫrk when she was young, but they went back once, to see her parents.”</p><p>    “Ita was taken.”</p><p>    “She can rest in Fólkvangr now. Freyja will care for her,” Lindsay assured him, but it didn’t relieve the ache in Gavin’s chest.</p><p>    They sat in silence after that. Words didn’t seem sufficient to express the enormity of their situation. Gavin was lonely now, even with Geoff and Lindsay sitting beside him. There was something about the tents and being away from everyone that left him feeling hollow. He missed the rowdiness and closeness of the longhouse. He missed the stories and songs and dirty jokes that would grow louder with each drink consumed. He missed Reginnvaldr.</p><p>    “Sing us a song, Lindsay,” Gavin begged softly. It was too quiet with only the fire crackling, he needed a respite from the cruel silence of the world if only for a moment. </p><p>    “I’m afraid I don’t know any good ones,” she replied with a sad smile. “What comes to mind is only mourning.”</p><p>    “I don’t think I have much use for happy songs now anyways.”</p><p>    Lindsay nodded in understanding, eyes heavy. She opened her mouth and sung. </p><p>    “<em>Who will sing me</em></p><p>
  <em>    Into the death-sleep sling me</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    When I walk the road to Hel</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    And the tracks I tread</em>
</p><p><em>    Are cold, so cold.</em>”</p><p>    Her voice rang through the camp and Gavin thought even the fired quieted down to hear. Others must have known the song too, for a chorus grew around Gavin and surrounded him in the pleading tones of mourning. The bitterness that surrounded them melted away in the face of their song, and by the final tones, Gavin knew he would protect these people with his life. He had no other option.</p><p>    “<em>Cattle die, kinsmen die</em></p><p>
  <em>    You yourself will also die</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    I know one thing that never dies</em>
</p><p><em>    The reputation of those who died.</em>”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Historical shenanigans:</p><p>0) I forgot historical shenanigans last time! D: Reginnvaldr's eerie rumbling growl is based off the barritus, a tribal Germanic war cry. Theatrical interpretation <a href="https://youtu.be/hMI-Vvse2vM">here</a></p><p>1) Stefi rubs a balm on Gavin's burn that smells like mint and leeks. In Ólafs saga Helga from the Heimskringla, a healer woman makes a soup of leeks for healing purposes, so I changed it to a balm but kept the leeks. A leek soup does sound good though...</p><p>2) The úlfhéðnar! A lesser known, rarer version of the berserkr. The úlfhéðnar warriors are often referred to as Odin's best warriors. An unnecessary note on berserking: we have little authentic historical context for these epic warriors. A great deal of our information comes from sagas (which are already historically dubious) written by the later period Christian descendants of the Viking Age Scandinavians. As for <em>how</em> berserkers went into their trances... we have no idea. I'm a personal fan of the 'self-induced hysteria' idea, but other (highly debated) scholars have speculated (controversially) the use of hallucinogenics or alcohol induced berserking. I do not agree with these scholars, but I'm not a tenured professor at a big name university so I share my opinions on ao3, not in the Journal of Medieval Norse Studies ;)</p><p>3) Lindsay's song, which is really a Wardruna song, is based off the Hávamál poem. Usually translated as "Sayings of the High One," Hávamál is a gnomic philosophy poem wherein Odin departs words of wisdom and experience upon a visitor.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another chapter, this time sneakily uploaded while I'm at work! My love and thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a> who caught a thousand issues with this chapter. We all bow before their writing abilities! We also bow to their amazing, lovely, wonderful art skills in the two new moodboards they made for chapters 3 and 4! I'm blown away and so grateful &lt;3<br/>If you have art or just want to chat, <a href="http://biowill.tumblr.com">here's my tumblr!</a></p><p>This chapter is heavily influenced/based on my own fighting experience. I mentioned in the first chapter that I'm an SCAdian (OUTLANDS!!!) and though I'm nowhere near good, I'm a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BEv67ZwgGyQ&amp;t=1s">heavy fighter!</a> </p><p> If my arms have to be sore after pell work, so do Gavin's.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 10</p><p>    Gavin stretched, wincing at the pops his back unleashed. He’d been awake since before dawn and by the sun’s position now, it was nearing midday. Hours of manual labor hadn’t done any favors for his body; his hands were blistered from his palms to in-between his fingertips, and Gavin ached in muscles he didn’t know he had. It was worth it though, the debris once constituting the great hall was almost cleared. </p><p>    “Hey, Gavin!” called Geoff. Gavin turned to see him beckoning him forth. He and Athie were near the far end of the debris, where Gavin’s room used to be. “There’s a chest here. Looks mostly untouched.” </p><p>    Gavin jogged over quickly. What he wouldn’t give for that chest to be filled with soap and a change of clothes. His current clothing was filthy and singed around what used to be rich embroidery. While he could have washed it and himself, not having anything else to wear was a bit irritating and Gavin wasn’t dirty enough yet to parade around naked while he waited for his clothes to dry. </p><p>    The chest was indeed intact, save a few scorch marks on its top. How it escaped the worst of the flames was a mystery to Gavin, but he was grateful for it anyways. He went to open it, but the latch was warped and melted in on itself, preventing the chest from opening. </p><p>    “Don’t suppose you have a hammer on you?” he asked Geoff. When Geoff shook his head, Gavin looked around for a rock large enough to break the metal latch. A promisingly large rock and a few determined crashes against the metal later, and Gavin could open the chest. Inside were a few of Reginnvaldr’s work tunics, a dagger sheathed in leather, and spare beeswax candles. Disappointment inexplicably filled Gavin and he berated himself at the feeling. What was he expecting, a box of magic treasures to make all their worries evaporate? Childish fantasies wouldn’t do him any good here. </p><p>    The clothing at least, was a welcome sight and though he knew Reginnvaldr’s tunics would be several sizes too large, Gavin couldn’t wait to put them on. Now if only he could find some soap. </p><p>    “Man, I was hoping for enough gold to buy out Rome,” Geoff laughed. “But the dagger’s nice and the tunics can go to use. Not too sure about the candles, unless we have a bunch of reading to do at night.” Gavin cracked a smile at that and felt less foolish for his hope. </p><p>    “I wanted a bunch of magic to fix everything,” Gavin admitted. </p><p>Geoff considered that for a moment before nodding sagely. “That’s a better thing to hope for, but we both look like fools for hoping for anything at all, I’d say.”</p><p>    “I wanted sweets,” Athie muttered just as pensively.</p><p>    Gavin laughed lightly at that and shook his head. The world could be crumbling around him but the innocence of babes gave him reason to smile and keep on. He turned to Geoff. “Any chance you’ve got some soap lying around? I could kill for a bath and a change.” </p><p>⁂</p><p>    It was wondrous what a bath and a change of clothing could do for one’s morale. Gavin wanted to check a looking glass to see if the transformation was as drastic as it felt, but the longhouse mirror had been shattered in the fire. It wasn’t very important anyways. What mattered was that Gavin felt leagues better than he had in his ash and blood soaked garb, no matter how Reginnvaldr’s tunic hung half off his frame.</p><p>    It was in that overlarge blue tunic, secured with his own belt, that Gavin headed to the medicine tent. He could hear Mǫgr yelling from nearly twelve feet away, but didn’t let it stop him. Dim light filtered weakly through the canvas tent, painting the occupants in a grayish light. </p><p>    “Afternoon Stefi,” Gavin greeted the medicine woman. She looked to be at the very ends of her patience with Mǫgr and about two seconds from throttling the man. “Mind if I borrow Mǫgr for a few hours? I promise nothing too strenuous, I just need his advice on a few matters.”</p><p>    Stefi huffed and waved Gavin away. “Keep him as long as you can, he’s driving me mad!” </p><p>    Gavin ignored Mǫgr’s renewed complaints and helped him to his feet. Mǫgr grabbed a sturdy lookin staff and hobbled outside the tent, berating Stefi the entire time. Once outside in the cool air, he took a deep breath and turned to Gavin.</p><p>    “Not that I don’t appreciate you rescuing my from rest and recovery, but what the fuck do you want?” </p><p>    “You promised to teach me how to fight,” Gavin said. He refused to back down, even when he saw Mǫgr’s incredulous look. </p><p>    “Yeah, sure. I don’t know if you noticed, but my leg doesn’t fucking work right now,” Mǫgr gestured vehemently to his bandaged thigh. “I’m no use to you like this.”</p><p>    Gavin ignored Mǫgr’s protests and dragged him towards the old training area. The area was largely unscathed from the battle, but parts of the fence were charred or broken and some debris littered the far side of the ring. Gavin hopped in the ring— leaving Mǫgr fuming and leaning against the fence— and bounced on his feet. “So what do we do? What’s the first step?”</p><p>    Mǫgr looked about five seconds from screaming, but stopped himself with a visible struggle. “Do you even have a sword?”</p><p>    Gavin blinked, and sheepishly scratched his head. “I guess I thought there’d be one here to use,” he said. Mǫgr’s eyes narrowed and his mouth opened, but Gavin pressed on before whatever—likely deserved—complaint could surface. “But I’ve got this dagger here!” He proudly unsheathed the dagger from Reginnvaldr’s box where it attached to his belt. It really was quite a beautiful dagger, with swirling tree designs along its inlay. Mǫgr, however, seemed unimpressed. </p><p>    “Are you fucking stupid? How am I supposed to teach you how to fight if all you’ve got is a fucking <em>toothpick</em>?” he yelled, startling a nearby crow. Gavin shrugged helplessly.</p><p>    “I don’t know! I just want to learn how to fight and you promised to teach me, but then everything happened and now I’m all alone. I just need to, I <em>need</em> to!” he couldn’t help the way his voice quivered and broke on the last word, the emotions he’d been forcing down for days bubbling up inside.</p><p>    Mǫgr sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Gavin’s heart sank at the reaction and he prepared himself for the undoubtedly brutal refusal. “Go into the shack near the dry store and get us a pair of practice swords and shields.”</p><p>    Gavin blinked. That was not at all what he was expecting. He opened his mouth— to ask why or thank Mǫgr profusely he wasn’t sure— but Mǫgr cut him off. “What are you still doing here? Go get the fucking swords!”</p><p>    Gavin didn’t wait a moment more. He took off to the dry store barn as fast as his legs could carry him. The shack was on the far side of the barn and despite spending quite a bit of time in the dry store and surrounding area, Gavin had never seen a reason to enter the shack. He had reason now.</p><p>    It was dark in the shack, the only light coming from the open door and the odd gap in the wood. It was emptier than Gavin anticipated, but he supposed it was to be expected with half the clan off pursuing Eyesteinn. They were bound to take extra arms and armor with them. Thankfully, the practice swords were left behind and easily identifiable. </p><p>    Gavin grabbed two of the wooden swords with leather straps and looped the leather through his belt. The practice shields were found nearby, leaning against the shack walls. Gavin grabbed one in each hand, lifted them, and promptly fell over. They were heavy as shit. And unlike the shields Gavin has seen used at Castle Bamburgh, they did not have an arm strap with which to hold them. With a grunt, Gavin heaved the shields up and waddled his way out of the shack. It took entirely too long and his arms were aching, but he eventually made it back to the practice ring and let the shields fall. Mǫgr remained unimpressed, if his scowl was anything to go by. Thankfully, he didn’t complain about how long Gavin took and instead commanded him to toss him a sword. With a sword in one hand and his crutch in another, Mǫgr pointed the blunted wood at Gavin and told him to lift a shield and draw his own sword.</p><p>    “What, already?” Gavin whined. “I just brought them over! Give my arms a chance to rest, yeah?” The withering glare he received stopped any further complaints though, and Gavin forced his muscles to lift the heavy center grip shield and draw his sword.</p><p>    The sword felt awkward and too thick for his hand, but it was light enough to lift. The shield, however, was impossible. The heavy leather covered grip was thin and slippery, making his hand slide around and it was heavy enough that Gavin could <em>feel</em> his muscles quivering. He leaned back a bit to rest the edge of the shield on his leg, but Mǫgr snapped at him.</p><p>    “Hold your shield out, never let it rest on your body. You’ll be dead before you can blink.”</p><p>    “I can’t hold it out,” Gavin argued. “It weighs a bloody ton.”</p><p>    “Fine, hold it how you can.”</p><p>    Though his arm would have sighed in relief had it a mouth, Gavin admitted to himself that his entire body was open to attack with his shield tilted down and resting on his hip. “Okay, now what?”</p><p>    Mǫgr’s wicked smile had Gavin feeling nervous. “Come over here and try to hit me,” Mǫgr taunted. Despite Mǫgr’s cockiness, Gavin didn’t want to hit him and cause further damage to his already injured body. “I can’t do that, Stefi would have my head. And you can’t even hold your own shield if you’re holding a sword and your crutch. Not to mention—”</p><p>    “Are you scared?” Mǫgr teased. “Gonna get your ass kicked by the guy with a crutch?”</p><p>    Gavin huffed. “No, I just don’t see how beating you with a stick when you’re defenseless will teach me how to defend myself!” And he was secretly certain Geoff would feed him to the chickens if Mǫgr wound up with bruises on top of his leg wound. The normally easy-going farmer could be vicious if his mates were hurt. And more importantly, Gavin didn’t want to actually hurt Mǫgr, he didn’t want to fight him; he just wanted to learn the basics of self defense.</p><p>    “How about this,” Mǫgr said. “If you can hit me once, we can do this your way and I’ll…eat the lees the gathers on the bottom of the mead barrel.”</p><p>    Gavin made a face of disgust, but was secretly intrigued. The sentiment at the bottom of the mead barrel before they were cleaned was pretty gross, and there was a particular amusement in having Mǫgr sample it. Seeing Gavin’s disgust slowly turn to excitement had Mǫgr’s grin turning positively malicious. “But if you can’t hit me even one time, then we train my way.”</p><p>    Shit. It was certain hell to train however Mǫgr wanted him to, Gavin was sure of it. But his apparent weakness for wagers and the fantasy image of Mǫgr spooning lees out like porridge had him considering. He could surely get at least one hit on Mǫgr, the bastard didn’t even have a shield! One smack and he’d be done with it.</p><p>    Gavin nodded to Mǫgr’s request and tried not to feel too nervous about the light that came to his eyes. “You get ten shots, you can use the shield—if you can— and I’ll get one shot. If you can manage to hit me once, or if I can’t manage to hit you, you win.” Mǫgr rolled his shoulders and brought the practice sword closer to his body. “But if you can’t land a single shot and I can, then I win. Deal?”</p><p>    “Deal.” Gavin was excited despite his nervousness. The sword may have been wooden, and he may not have been able to lift the shield, but this was exactly what he’d been wanting. The power he felt from holding the sword was undeniable. </p><p>    “Go.”</p><p>    Mǫgr stood in the same position he’d been in before, only holding his sword oddly. The hilt was above his shoulder and the tip of the sword hovered behind him. Gavin furrowed his brow at the position. It didn’t look like it’d give much protection, even less so because of Mǫgr’s crutch in the way. Gavin shrugged and brought his on sword to an aloft position, hovering above his shield and across his body. It felt somehow familiar, as if he remembered watching the young squires spar, holding their arms aloft and smacking each other to the directions of their knights.</p><p>    Gavin tried holding his sword and shield like his memories of those squires, but it was impossible. The shield was too heavy and so Gavin returned it to resting on his leg. It did leave part of him open, but he figured with Mǫgr stuck in place he wouldn’t have any problems.</p><p>    “Come on, I’m getting old over here!” Mǫgr taunted, intentionally straining his voice to sound raspy and aged. Gavin darted closer and snapped his sword at him. Even as he threw the shot, he could feel how weak and awkward it was. The muscle and bulk he’d gained from living in Danmǫrk didn’t extend to sword fighting apparently. The shot, weak as it was, never reached its nebulous target. Gavin didn’t even see it happen, but one moment Mǫgr’s sword was hovering behind him and the next it was knocking Gavin’s sword aside. Mǫgr’s block was so strong in fact that it nearly knocked the sword from Gavin’s hand entirely and Gavin suspected had Mǫgr intended he lose the sword, he would have. </p><p>    “Come on little Gavin,” Mǫgr called in a crude impression of his accent. “I’m a stationary target here!”</p><p>    With a grunt, Gavin swung his sword in a great arc towards Mǫgr’s head only to be blocked again. Gavin glared at Mǫgr’s expressions and saw he hadn’t even broken a sweat; he looked almost <em>amused</em> at Gavin’s fighting. Gavin grit his teeth and quickly threw two more shots followed by an aimless jab. Mǫgr blocked all of them effectively, almost casually.</p><p>    Gavin was winded and his arms were clumsy. The next few shots he threw barely connected with Mǫgr’s sword and Gavin couldn’t bring himself to care. It felt like he was lifting the sword through molasses and the he might as well have not been holding the shield for how low it sat.</p><p>    “You’ve got one more,” Mǫgr said and Gavin hated that he didn’t sound out of breath. He himself was panting and both his arms ached, clumsy with exhaustion and confusion. He could feel the sweat pooling behind his knees and under his arms. He was probably making a mess of the new tunic, but he couldn’t even care about it he was so tired. He threw his remaining strength into the last shot and was immediately thrown off balance by the way Mǫgr blocked it. Arms flailing, Gavin let the sword and shield both drop from his hands in an attempt to find his footing. It didn’t help, and his backside connected with the hard ground painfully.</p><p>    “Get up,” Mǫgr commanded. “Get your sword.”</p><p>    “You made your bloody point!” Gavin spat, wiping the sweat from his eyes and only smearing dirt across his forehead. He huffed and rubbed at the dirt. “You don’t need to humiliate me further.”</p><p>    Mǫgr rolled his eyes and extended a hand to help Gavin to his feet. “I haven’t made any point, and you still have to block my one try. So pick up your sword, pick up your shield, and get back here.” Mǫgr ignored Gavin’s glower and twirled his sword around nonchalantly. Sword and shield back in hand, Gavin got back in place. Mǫgr nodded at him and swung. </p><p>    A great bruising pain, blunt and brute, erupted on Gavin’s right thigh. He swore loudly and immediately backed away form Mǫgr, hopping. “I wasn’t bloody ready! You hit me!”</p><p>    “Yeah I hit you,” Mǫgr said, smirking. “You really want me to hit you again?”</p><p>    “Well I wasn’t ready, was I?” </p><p>    Mǫgr shook his head, but Gavin could see a smile pulling the corners of his mouth. “Okay, are you ready now?” Gavin hated that he looked just as unaffected and relaxed as before. </p><p>    “Ready.”</p><p>    Gavin saw Mǫgr begin to swing his sword and on instinct shut his eyes and pulled in to himself, trying to make a smaller target, but it did nothing and the same blunt pain blossomed on his left shoulder. Gavin opened his eyes to see where the shot had connected but Mǫgr’s sword was already back to its starting position. “How’d you do that?!” Gavin squawked. </p><p>    “Practice,” Mǫgr replied. “Practice and wanting to not eat the fucking mead lees.” Gavin sighed and let his ill-held shield drop completely to the ground. Mǫgr’e eyes followed the shield. “That’s why you keep your shield up. Easier to block shots to your shoulder and body if your shield is actually moving around and not stuck to your leg.”</p><p>    “It’s too heavy though,” Gavin argued again. “I don’t have that kind of muscle! I’m not a warrior.”</p><p>    “But you could be,” was the reply. Mǫgr looked like he was considering something, his brow furrowed and head tilted like he was sizing Gavin up. “You could be a great warrior.”</p><p>    Gavin put his sword down and rubbed at his bruised body. Only two shots and Gavin was almost positive Mǫgr wasn’t putting his full strength into them either, yet they still hurt. “I’m an omega, Mǫgr. And don’t give me that bollocks about Jack and Jerbjorn being omega warriors, they’re loads stronger than me, and what’s more I’m here as Val’s war prize. I’m not a free man.”</p><p>    “Áslaug, Reginnvaldr’s mother, she was an omega,” Mǫgr said. “And Ragnar took her just like Reginnvaldr took you. But guess what? She led armies. She became known as Randalín—shield-woman— because her drive to protect her sons and avenge her husband were greater than her weaknesses. You can be a great warrior if you have the heart of a warrior, if you have the drive of a warrior. It doesn’t matter who you are.” When Gavin didn’t reply, Mǫgr pressed onward. “Reginnvaldr has a few brothers, you know. One of them named Ivar. They call him ‘the Boneless’ because he has no bones in his body and he can’t walk, but he’s still one of the fiercest warriors in the world. He rides on a shield carried by his men and cuts down enemies where they stand.” Mǫgr pressed close to Gavin and grabbed his shoulder. “So don’t you dare tell me you’re not strong enough, that you can’t do this. Because you can, and the moment you stop whining, I can get to teaching you.”</p><p>    Gavin was surprised to hear about Reginnvaldr’s family, the man was usually so tight-lipped about them himself. There was a certain appeal in having the means of protecting his clan, his pack. He couldn’t fathom becoming a shield-omega, but he could fathom a drive so strong to protect what was yours that it transcended aching muscles and blistered hands. </p><p>    “Okay,” he finally said. “What’s the first step?”</p><p>⁂</p><p>    Gavin was pretty sure his arms were going to fall off. </p><p>    With all the manual labor of shifting lumber from the charred longhouse in the morning, he was bound to feel sore later with that alone. But then he went and started learning to fight with Mǫgr, and the warrior was <em>brutal</em> in his training. It had been ages before Mǫgr let him leave the ring. Needless to say, Gavin was exhausted. </p><p>    “Gavvy, can we play?” asked Athie. He was supposed to be washing up for dinner, Gavin had heard Geoff implore him to do so earlier before leaving to finish his chores, but it seemed Athie was more interested in playing than he was supper.</p><p>    “Your apa will have my head if you’re dirtier than before he left,” Gavin replied. </p><p>    “No!” Athie protested. “And ‘sides, <em>fóstri</em>-apa is all dirty too. He didn’t clean up, so I don’t have to!” Gavin supposed that made quite a bit of sense to the five-year old. He’d never been very good at enforcing rules with kids— they’d always argue well enough for Gavin to concede. “How about we ask your <em>fóstri-</em>apa, and see what he says?” </p><p>    Athie gave Gavin a look of utter betrayal and hunched his shoulders in. “No fun,” he complained. Gavin smiled at the petulance and took Athie by the hand. </p><p>    “We can wash up together, hm? And after supper, if your fathers say yes, we can play for a little while. How does that sound?” Athie looked skeptical so Gavin tried sweetening the deal. “And if you wash up without complaint, I’ll let you have a sip of mead. What do you say to that?”</p><p>    Athie nodded in excitement and began pulling Gavin towards the wash barrel set near the clan’s temporary encampment. It was quick work to wash the boy up when he’d received promise of mead with dinner and Gavin hoped that’d be sufficient reason for his barter when Mǫgr or Geoff asked why he was feeding their son alcohol. It’s not like he’d give Athie any more than a mouthful of his drink. Gavin felt like drinking an entire barrel himself with how sore his arms were. The shot to his thigh was throbbing painfully too.</p><p>    “Hey, Gavin,” Jerbjorn greeted, approaching him. He was still pale and sickly looking from whatever had harmed him in Eyesteinn’s ambush, but he was up and moving. That was leagues better from his shivering fever only days before. “Mǫgr tells me you’ve started fighting. That’s great news!”</p><p>    Gavin smiled tiredly. “Thanks, he’s been hitting me about every two seconds, but I figure I’ll get him back soon enough. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”</p><p>    “I am,” Jerbjorn agreed. He sat down on the same log as Gavin. “I’m going to start helping Mǫgr teach you the basics. He’s great, but his patience? Liable to leave you black and blue before you learn to hold your shield.” Gavin huffed a laugh. He already felt achey and exhausted and their practice today scarcely lasted two hours. Trying to imagine Mǫgr without patience made his already sore body recoil in aversion. </p><p>    “I’d like that Lil’ J,” Gavin replied, and the affronted look on Jerbjorn’s face forced another laugh from him. “What’s with that look?”</p><p>    “Little J?” Jerbjorn complained. “I know I’m shorter than you, but I’m not little.”</p><p>    “Oh really? I seem to remember you needing help reaching the honey on the top shelf a few weeks ago…”</p><p>    Jerbjorn’s face darkened and he affected a tone of faux-anger. “I take back what I said, I’m not helping you against Mǫgr. In fact, I’m going to cheer him on. You Northumbrian bastard.”</p><p>    “My parents were married, thank you very much,” Gavin bantered back. It had been a good long while since he could banter with someone. Jack was usually too nice or would get actually angry, and Reginnvaldr made his stomach flutter too intently to tease. And Gavin valued his life too much to even think about teasing Mǫgr. At least, not until he learned how to use the shield properly.</p><p>    “I don’t <em>care</em>,” Jerbjorn said empathetically. “Bastard is a state of <em>being</em>, not a state of birth!” The two devolved into giggling messes, which jostled Gavin’s bruised body and incited groans, making Jerbjorn giggle harder. </p><p>    The shallow pain of the past few days—both emotional and physical— seemed so far away at that moment. It wasn’t gone, of course. Gavin still felt the absence of Reginnvaldr acutely and the grief of losing their home and their clansmen was a constant reminder of what had occurred, but the ache was becoming easier to bear. In the building warmth of the fire, with Jerbjorn slapping his back in camaraderie, and Athie’s youthful voice asking wide-eyed questions in the distance, Gavin could breathe. He could see the light of hope over the hill.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Historical (and SCA) shenanigans: </p><p>1) Viking style center grip shields are, in my humble opinion, fucking awful. They're actually one of the best shields you can use in SCA heavy combat because they're super mobile, and historically that mobility could translate to offense as well as defense. The 'heater shield' (aka 12th century English kite shield) with an arm strap that Gavin referenced blocks with the corners of the shield, so it's much easier to use, but much less mobile. Also Gavin wouldn't know what a strap shield is. 9th century England also had center-grip shields and would continue to have them until the Norman conquest, when they switched to oblong kite shields.</p><p>2) If you're a person with more muscle on your thighs and hips than on your arms like me and you want to get into rattan/heavy combat, remember that our power comes from our hips. We won't get anywhere trying to club our opponents like the 6'5 300lbs  fighters, instead, we need to use our hips as rotational, pivoting power and through our shots from the hips (this also saves our shoulders+elbows.) </p><p>3) Áslaug is my favorite character from SoRL and she features later in this fic. That's all. For the record, she's referred to as Áslaug and not Randalin for this fic because I really like the name Áslaug. ^^;;<br/>Let's justify this by saying she only goes by Randalin in times of active war? Sure, let's go with that!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tons of love and thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a> for betaing this chapter and for creating beautiful moodboards!<br/>I also want to thank you all for the lovely comments. I'm so humbled by the support this fic has received and I can't thank you all enough for it. Most especially, a thousand thank yous to rebel_raven and lesbianlizard. Your words of unnerving support are seriously amazing :') &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 11</p><p>
  
</p><p>    Gavin didn’t know how he was still standing, to be honest. Over the past two weeks, he had spent only a few hours asleep each night, tossing and turning with restless anxiety before giving up before dawn and rising to tend to the fires and relieve whoever was minding the flames. Between the reconstruction, healing the ruined farmland, and tending to every need that arose day in and day out, Gavin was knackered. </p><p>    The air was starting to bite this early in the morning, and Gavin was sure it wouldn’t be long before autumn tightened its hold on Ribe. He worried about their stores, even if they had enough to last several months, Gavin wasn’t confident in how kindly the winter would treat them, or how timely spring would arrive. He would have to ask Geoff his opinion on the food. If anyone would know, it’d be the head farmer. The things that occupied Gavin’s waking hours were enough to make his head spin if he stopped for too long, and the food stores were causing Gavin a great deal of anxiety. Geoff would help set him straight with this at the very least.</p><p>    They still weren’t done with rebuilding the great hall either, other houses and structures taking up a majority of their time. While Gavin knew they didn’t <em>need</em> the hall, it still made him uneasy with it standing half reconstructed and half in ruin. He’d make sure they finished that as quickly as possible, it was a symbol. A physical representation of the clan and of Ribe, of Reginnvaldr’s kinghood and the gods’ favor. Having the great hall in ruins set him on edge and made his teeth ache. </p><p>    To be honest, his teeth had been hurting a lot as of late. He ought to bring that up to someone too. </p><p>    With a grunt, Gavin rose to his feet, deciding finding Stefi and getting his teeth looked at was the easiest of problems to solve. Assuming his teeth weren’t all about to fall out or something equally bizarre, anyways.</p><p>⁂</p><p>    “What do you mean my teeth are about to fall out?!” Gavin screeched. Stefi didn’t look too concerned about telling him he was losing his adult teeth and she rolled her eyes at his dramatics. Dramatics, Gavin felt, that were well deserved all things considering.</p><p>    “It happens all the time,” she reassured him. “You’ve got nothing to be worried about.” When Gavin’s face kept its hysteric expression, she sighed. “Look, go talk to another omega about it, I need to get back to healing.” With that dismissal, Gavin was left to seek out his own answers. </p><p>    Unfortunately, he only really knew two other omegas that had stayed behind in Ribe. Lindsay was nowhere to be found, and Gavin didn’t think he knew Jeremy well enough to be asking what was undoubtedly an awkward puberty question. But he had to know. Gavin sighed and headed towards one of the farthest barns, where he knew Jeremy would be working.</p><p>    It was a decent sized structure, with only two walls and the rest of the space open to the elements. Gavin vaguely remembered Jack mentioning gesturing to the farthest barns when he first arrived in Ribe. They were used for the more unpleasant parts of tanning hide and rendering tallow and thankfully Gavin hadn’t needed to attend the barns before now. He wished he had some sort of mint balm or sweet grass oil to put under his nose before approaching what was sure to be a plethora of nauseating smells. </p><p>    “Jerbjorn?” Gavin called. He could hear the grunts of someone working hard and turned the corner to see Jerbjorn stamping his feet into a wooden tub of… something. Whatever it was, it smelled utterly foul and Gavin instantly brought a hand up to cover his nose. “Er, I can come back later if you’re busy.” </p><p>    “Nah, it’s fine. What’s up Gav?” he asked, wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm. Gavin wondered how he could bear breathing through his nose.</p><p>    “I, uh, had a question.” Gavin watched as Jerbjorn stepped out of the wooden tub and onto a dingy looking piece of cloth. Big clumps of muck clung to his leg hairs and nearly got high enough to stain his trousers. One clump rolled off his leg and hit the ground with an audible smack, making Gavin gag. </p><p>    When he managed to control his gagging, Gavin looked up to see Jerbjorn with an amused expression. “Never seen leather made, huh?”</p><p>    “Never,” Gavin said. “What on earth is that?” He gestured to the muck still slowly sliding down Jerbjorn’s legs to accumulate on the cloth.</p><p>    “Water, cow brains, and chicken shit,” was Jerbjorn’s deadpan response. His impassive face broke into a grin when Gavin was struck by another round of gagging. “Gotta make the skin supple somehow.” After a beat where Gavin’s gagging did nothing to decrease in intensity, he continued. “Let’s take this outside?”</p><p>    The smell did decrease somewhat when they’d walked a few dozen paces away from the tub, and Gavin did his best not to look at Jerbjorn’s still filthy legs. “So tell me what’s going on.”</p><p>    Gavin cleared his throat. “It’s an omega thing,” he said. Jerbjorn smirked at him, but it felt more like camaraderie than mocking.</p><p>    “Luckily I know a couple things about being an omega. Is it your heat…?”</p><p>    Gavin blushed despite himself. He knew it was natural, and even openly discussed in the north, but the thought of heat still brought red to his cheeks. “Er, no. Not yet thank the gods. It’s about my teeth?” He didn’t mean to phrase it like a question, but his confusion over the topic bled through anyways. “Stefi said I ought to see you about it. They’ve just been really sore lately, which is odd because I lost my childhood teeth ages ago.”</p><p>    A huge smile broke over Jerbjorn’s face. “Aww, it’s because you’re a big boy now Gavvy,” he teased. At Gavin’s blank look, Jerbjorn grew serious. “Did… did you not know omegas lose their teeth again?”</p><p>    “They do?” This was news to Gavin. Though his knowledge on all things omega was sorely lacking, he thought he would have heard of omega women losing their teeth at least once in his time at Castle Bamburg. Not to mention through his many conversations with Jack about their secondary sex.</p><p>    “Yeah,” Jerbjorn said, softer this time. “You lose your teeth as a child and grow new ones right? Those are what betas keep. Alphas get another set when they’re an adult, and omegas get two other sets. One when they’re an adult, and one once they’ve mated.” At Gavin’s disbelieving expression, Jerbjorn smiled ruefully. “You’re old enough to have your adult omega teeth now. Did you never get them?”</p><p>    “I— no, never. I just thought you had teeth and that was that.” Gavin remembered the foul smelling herbs that suppressed his heat back a lifetime ago. He wondered if they managed to stunt his teeth as well, and asked Jerbjorn as much. </p><p>    “It’s possible,” Jerbjorn said thoughtfully. “You’d have to ask someone smarter than me. A <em>vǫlva</em> priestess might know if you were really that curious.”</p><p>    Gavin shook his head. It was just another thing for him to feel sore over. He <em>did</em> used to get the odd toothache at Castle Bamburgh, something his father had always brushed off as too many sweets. Gavin wondered if his father knew about omega teeth.</p><p>    “So adulthood and then mating,” Gavin said. “Do they hurt to come out?” </p><p>    Jerbjorn grimaced, much to Gavin’s dismay. “They definitely start to ache before they fall out. You can sometimes hit them out if they get lose enough and that does the trick.” Jerbjorn’s expectant expression had Gavin puzzled for a moment before he caught Jerbjorn’s meaning.</p><p>    “You’re not smacking my teeth out Lil’ J!” he squawked. “Not in a hundred years, not in a <em>million</em> years!” </p><p>    Jerbjorn rolled his eyes, but kept the smile. “Guess you oughta’ get better at using your shield then, huh?” Gavin’s eyes widened in horror, setting Jerbjorn off cackling. “Oh yeah, that’s good motivation to hold your shield up, you lazy fuck. I’ll tell Mǫgr and then we’ll start punishing that huge opening you leave with your shield on your thigh.”</p><p>    “Lil’ J, no!” Gavin cried, laughter bubbling through his words. “Jerbjorn, that’s <em>mean</em>, Jerbjorn!</p><p>    “Guess you should go see Mǫgr and practice before I tell him my mean plan.” Jerbjorn said seriously. The grin on his face betrayed his tone, however, and Gavin couldn’t help but gingerly pat Jerbjorn’s shoulder in affection. Only gingerly though. He didn’t know how much of the leather muck made it onto Jerbjorn’s clothes. </p><p>    “I need to go talk to Geoff about the stores,” Gavin said. “But Jer? Thank you.”</p><p>    Jerbjorn waved him off with a smile. “Don’t worry about it Gav.”</p><p>⁂</p><p>    Gavin found Geoff lovingly tending to his unusual chickens. It was unexpectedly adorable how Geoff cooed over the blue one and gently groomed its feathers. “Geoff, what are we doing, Geoff?”</p><p>    “Hey idiot,” Geoff said in reply, quite rudely in Gavin’s estimation. “Just getting the chickens settled again. Eyesteinn’s bastard men didn’t harm mine, but set fire to one of the farther coops, so I’m working on getting the survivors integrated with my own.”</p><p>    “Anything I can do?” Gavin asked. He wasn’t particularly keen on scooping chicken shit like how he’d done the last time he’d offered to help Geoff with the chickens, but if it needed doing…</p><p>    “See if you can’t find any eggs lying around,” Geoff suggested, and Gavin nodded in eager relief. No chicken shit today thankfully. He wasn't sure how much of it his stomach could handle after seeing the leather tanning earlier. “Place them in the basket over here, I think Lindsay mentioned wanting some for the <em>dagmál</em> tomorrow.”</p><p>    Gavin set to it. The pen wasn’t so large that he found the task insurmountable, but there were a surprising number of hiding places for chicken eggs. He was retrieving one inexplicably laid behind a bucket when he finally asked Geoff, “Geoff, in your estimation, what do our stores look like after Eyesteinn?”</p><p>    Geoff paused in his actions, one hand half buried in a henhouse. “How do you mean, Gavin?</p><p>    “I mean, will we run out of food before the spring? I wasn’t here for the last planting season, and I don’t know how well the winter vegetables fare way up here. I don’t really have much experience with planting to begin with, let alone winter harvests in Danmǫrk.”</p><p>    Geoff’s brow furrowed in concentration. His pause was so long that Gavin started to worry and he began picking at a splinter sticking out of the henhouse. It came off with a creak and Gavin watched the splinter drop to the ground. He wondered if that was a bad omen.</p><p>    “We won’t starve to death,” Geoff answered slowly, as if wary of cursing the words by uttering them aloud. “But we won’t be comfortable.” </p><p>    That wouldn’t do. “I won’t have my people going hungry, Geoff.” </p><p>    “We’ve been hungry before, and we’ll be hungry again, Gavin,” Geoff said in the same matter-of-fact tone. “But Frigg be with us, no one will starve, and we’ll have a good enough winter harvest that we can survive until the spring months.” </p><p>    Gavin sighed heavily, crossing his arms tightly across his body in a weak approximation of a hug. “I want everyone fed and I want them comfortable. How do I make that happen?” He didn’t care what the answer was, he would ensure he did it. The thought of excitable little Athie, or any one of the children that called Ribe home tired, cheeks sunken and spark dulled from hunger turned his stomach worse than the longships across the North Sea. He would butcher the horses and pour out his own supper bowl before seeing them go without food.</p><p>    “You’re not going to like my idea,” Geoff said warily, hesitation evident in the way his entire body seemed to shy away from Gavin’s inquisitive look. “I don’t know if we even have the numbers to pull it off.”</p><p>    “Tell me,” Gavin demanded.</p><p>    “In lean years, or in times of war, Reginnvaldr would lead winter raids. In addition to the spring ones.” Geoff cringed as he said it; not, Gavin thought, from a personal distaste for the raids, but for fear of Gavin's reaction. He needn’t have worried.</p><p>    “Then we’ll have to raid,” Gavin said, straightening up and unwinding his arms. He nodded, partly to Geoff, and mostly to himself, trying to convince himself of his own pragmatism. “I want you and whoever else you think best to plan a raid to meet me at sunset, before supper, at the fire nearest the great hall. We’ll have a lot to cover.”</p><p>    Gavin strode away, leaving a gaping Geoff slack-jawed and disbelieving in his wake. Gavin felt rather like gaping at himself too. The thought of raids brought forth terrible images, imagined and real, to the forefront of his mind. Monks, cowering under crucifixes, begging The Lord for salvation from the blood-covered heathen before him. Nuns, helplessly cloistered subject to any manner of horrors at the ungentle hands of a northern barbarian. Earl Bamburgh, his face pale and clammy, watching his best knights torn apart by the Great Heathen Army and ordering a retreat.</p><p>    A year ago, Gavin would have balked at the suggestion, would have grown nauseated and horrified. Six months ago, Gavin would have sputtered and steadfastly avoided looking at the bondservants. A month ago, Gavin would have denied any need for a raid, would have even argued the point had it been brought to him. But things had changed, and he would rather die than see his pack starve. He would rather kill than see the children hungry. </p><p>    “I refuse to pray for forgiveness,” Gavin hissed to himself, despite the pang of anxiety it sent through his heart. “But I will beg for mercy. Do not let them suffer, whoever we decide deserves our ire. Let it be quick.” The unguided prayer was selfish, Gavin could admit that much. It was as much for the benefit of the human shaped swirls of mist in his mind— their future targets— as it was for Gavin himself. All the practice in the world with Mǫgr wouldn’t prepare him for killing someone. He could only hope it would be quick. For everyone’s sake.</p><p>⁂</p><p>    Gavin’s leg kept shaking and it was really starting to irritate him. He’d tried stopping it of course—both with his willpower and physically with his own two hands—but nothing stayed the bounds of restlessness that had taken over his body.</p><p>    “Hey Gav,” Jerbjorn greeted, taking a seat beside him. Geoff and Mǫgr followed suit shortly after, finding their own seats across the fire pit. Unexpectedly, Finna also joined the group, shoving Mǫgr playfully and sprawling gracelessly on the ground, heedless of its chill. Gavin couldn’t say he knew Finna well, but he thought she was a healer, not a warrior. Perhaps Geoff wanted a different perspective. </p><p>    “So I hear we’re going to fuck some people up,” Finna started conversationally, voice pleasant and expectant, like this was something she did every day. Like it was completely normal for Gavin to call for the brutalization of nameless people. And perhaps it was, for her. </p><p>    “Geoff and I spoke today,” Gavin said in lieu of a direct reply. “And decided that we need more food than we currently have if we’re going to keep our clan alive throughout the winter.” He struggled to come up with anything beyond that. His hazy memories of being a child and listening in on Earl Bamburgh’s war councils wouldn’t help him here. And even if they did, Gavin doubted Northumbrian marching orders could compare to the chaos of a northman’s raid.</p><p>    “Sounds like a good idea,” Jerbjorn said, an encouraging smile on his face. “More food will do us good, especially with the amount of work everyone’s been putting in. I bet one raid would turn the whole of Ribe around.”</p><p>    “One raid’s not going to solve the world’s problems,” Mǫgr argued. Gavin frowned at the pessimism.</p><p>    “It won’t <em>solve</em> anything, but it will help.” </p><p>    “And that’s what we need,” Geoff interjected, placing a hand on Mǫgr’s shoulder as if to stifle his further protests. “You know as well as I do that we’re working at about a quarter capacity right now. Even if all of us worked the farm—which would leave the hall and houses unfinished for the snow—we’d be fucked if the harvest was anything less than perfect. So we need to raid.”</p><p>    “Just point me in a direction and let me go!” Finna exclaimed, giddy giggles bubbling from her mouth. </p><p>    “There’s a monastery about five days away by boat. Less if the winds are favorable,” Jerbjorn mused. “I bet they’d have something.”</p><p>    “We don’t have enough people to work the land, what makes you think we have enough to pull off a raid!” Mǫgr exclaimed. He threw his hands up in disbelief. “Let’s say that somehow we manage to get there and have the people. Who’s left behind that can fight? Me? With my fucked up leg? Geoff? Who hasn’t fought in twenty years?” Mǫgr shook his head. “Even if everything went perfectly, we don’t have the manpower to make it happen. All the able-bodied warriors went off to chase Eyesteinn, we’d be lucky if we could kill a bear the way we are now.”</p><p>    Before Gavin could protest, Finna punched Mǫgr in his good leg. Hard. “Shut up for Oðinn’s sake! I can and will beat you senseless. We can do it.”</p><p>    “Motherfucker!” Mǫgr swore, batting Finna away and rubbing his leg. “Geoff, you’re just going to let her hit me like that?” He whined at Geoff. Geoff smiled indulgently and took over Mǫgr’s rubbing for him.</p><p>    “She’s right though,” Jerbjorn said. “I’m basically back to fighting shape, Finna has at least some experience, Geoff used to fight—you don’t lose that, no matter how long it’s been—Gav’s been working hard at it, you could stand there looking menacing. That’s five right there. We need, what, six people to do something small?” Jerbjorn snorted and gave an easy smile. “They’re monks, Mǫgr. A blindfolded child could kill one.”</p><p>    When Mǫgr didn’t immediately shoot Jerbjorn down, Gavin piped in. “We need to do this regardless of if you approve or not,” he said softly, wary of upsetting Mǫgr. “But I’d rather have you with us than not. You know what you’re doing and you’d know how to best execute something like this.” Gavin lowered his voice further before continuing, so quiet he almost couldn’t be heard above the crackling of the fire. “I need your help Mǫgr, I can’t let the pack down. Not now.”</p><p>    After a long pause, Mǫgr huffed and rubbed his hands over his face. “Fucking fine, we’ll do it.” He grumbled. Gavin refrained from punching the air in victory, but didn’t stop the grin from growing on his face. When Mǫgr saw it, he groaned. “Don’t let this whole asking me for shit thing become a habit,” he warned. “I’m only doing this because Jerbjorn convinced me.” </p><p>    Geoff shook his head and squeezed his mate in a half-hug. “We five can go, we’ll need one more, and Gavin will need someone to watch over the clan.”</p><p>    “Sága can do it,” Finna replied instantly. “She’s used to running shit, and Stefi will help her whenever she needs.” Gavin vaguely placed Sága as the curvy woman who always wore her hair up and thought she might be Stefi’s mate. If she was anything like Stefi, leaving Ribe to them would put his mind at ease. The women were terrifyingly competent. </p><p>    “Jerbjorn can you find us another person to raid, and Mǫgr can you start training us all? Finna, can I put you in charge of the boat? I don’t know the first thing about the boats to be honest.” Except of course the brief trip he took across the Narrow Sea when he first left Castle Bamburgh with Val. Most of that trip had been by horseback once they’d crossed the sea and Gavin had the sneaking suspicion that the rest of the boats had been raiding while they’d ridden home. “Geoff, I want you to determine exactly how much food we’ll need and sort out what we’ll need to take with us. I want to be there and back as quickly as possible, no loitering once we’re there.”</p><p>    “When do you want to leave, Gav?” Jerbjorn asked. </p><p>    “As soon as possible, right? How long will it take us to get ready?”</p><p>    To Gavin’s surprise, Mǫgr was the one that answered. “I’d say at least a week. Maybe longer depending on what kind of training you all need. Best case scenario from the fighting side, we could leave in five days.”</p><p>    Gavin nodded. Five days didn’t feel like near long enough to adapt to the idea of killing someone, or even building the muscle needed to kill someone. He’d barely moved on to a steel axe from the heavier wooden swords and had little idea how to use it compared to the wooden swords. And as Mǫgr kept pointing out with his wooden sword at every opportunity, Gavin still rested his shield on his leg. </p><p>    He supposed it ultimately wouldn’t matter, he’d never heard of a monk wielding a sword. </p><p>⁂</p><p>    “Again,” Mǫgr said, the bastard. Gavin grunted and swung his axe haphazardly in Mǫgr’s general direction. To no one’s surprise, Mǫgr blocked it without batting an eye. “Concentrate. You need to concentrate. Where am I open?”</p><p>    Gavin took in his stance, Mǫgr’s shield held aloft and unerringly still in front of him. He was open everywhere, but he could move the shield so quickly that it didn’t matter. Even with a still-healing leg, Mǫgr was an experienced warrior and knew how to fight. Gavin circled Mǫgr, feet shuffling together to avoid being knocked over from a cross-legged stance. He’d at least learned that much in his time training. </p><p>    Mǫgr turned with him easily, despite the leg, following Gavin’s circling with his shield. It was then Gavin realized he was hovering his shield slightly to the left. His injured leg, Gavin realized, Mǫgr was leaving his injured leg exposed because he rightfully assumed Gavin would leave it off limits. Of course he would, but that didn’t mean Gavin wouldn’t feign otherwise.</p><p>    Gavin stepped in low to Mǫgr’s right, twisting the axe in his hand to wrap around Mǫgr’s thigh. Mǫgr yelled and moved his shield to block the feign, giving Gavin just enough time to yank his axe back and swing the blunted steel to Mǫgr’s now exposed left side. The shot landed, and Mǫgr let out a string of curses at the no doubt painful bruise Gavin left behind. </p><p>    His body finally knew what to do, and Gavin was able to dodge Mǫgr’s shield from slamming against his face. Gavin darted to Mǫgr’s right side again and popped his shield out in an approximation of what Mǫgr did. The shields clashed together and Gavin took advantage of Mǫgr’s lack of weapon to swing his axe around the shields to Mǫgr’s right shoulder.</p><p>    “Fuck!” Mǫgr yelled, and instantly backed up, shield-arm dropping to his side. “Good, good, fuck!” </p><p>    Gavin whooped and let his shield drop to the ground. He threw his arms around Mǫgr with a delighted laugh, mindful of the axe he still held. “Good? It was good? I did it! Mǫgr, M-ah-ger, Mogar, I did it!” </p><p>    “Get off me!” Mǫgr protested, but Gavin could see the smile on his face. Trust Mǫgr to be pleased by bodily harm and fighting. Gavin internally rolled his eyes. Alphas. </p><p>    “I did it!” Gavin repeated, giving Mǫgr some space, but bouncing up and down in excitement. Mǫgr rolled his eyes but nodded.</p><p>    “You did. You’d be fucked if I had a weapon and two working legs,” Mǫgr was sure to say, looking pointedly at his shield and leg. “But for what you did and what I had, you didn’t do badly.”</p><p>    “Good enough for the raid?” Gavin asked. Really at the moment, that was his main concern. It was a more tangible worry than his original desire to fight—some sense of freedom and autonomy—and Gavin thought it best to focus on that real concern for the moment.</p><p>    Mǫgr nodded again. “You were fine for it before, but now you’ll be useful.” He smirked at Gavin's soft sound of protest. “We should be in and out without any issues. It’s easy picking with monasteries.”</p><p>    That had Gavin furrowing his brow. It brought to the forefront of his mind another intangible worry that had plagued him during quiet moments. “What’s it like, Mǫgr? To kill someone, I mean.”</p><p>    Mǫgr paused for so long Gavin thought he hadn’t heard him. He had a distant look in his eyes, and looked older than his years. “It gets easier,” he said eventually. “The first time I killed someone I was barely out of childhood. I threw up afterwards.” Gavin grimaced at the thought. </p><p>    “But it got easier,” he said, not quite a question, but a prompt nonetheless.</p><p>    “It did. And then I became a <em>berserkr</em> when Reginnvaldr saw me fight and liked what he saw. Now it doesn’t bother me, it doesn’t even register if I’m wearing the skin.” The word was foreign to Gavin, though he recognized the word <em>serkr</em> as meaning coat. </p><p>    “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about Mogar,” Gavin said and smiled teasingly when Mǫgr frowned at his intentional mispronunciation. </p><p>    “A <em>berserkr </em>can take the skin of a bear,” Mǫgr said. Gavin supposed the <em>ber</em> part of the word must come from <em>bjǫrn</em> to mean bear. “They follow the spirit of the bear through the forest in their mind, and when they emerge, their enemies are dead. Reginnvaldr had me train with one of the elder warriors to learn how to don the bear’s skin.”</p><p>    The idea of blacking out only to awake surrounded by corpses sent a thrill of terror through Gavin just as it excited him. “I want to be able to do that,” he decided. Mǫgr shook his head. </p><p>    “The <em>berserkr </em>and the <em>úlfheðnar</em> can only be achieved by alphas,” Mǫgrsaid. “That is as much tradition as it is anything. You could still achieve the same type of effect by becoming <em>svinfylking. </em>Only omegas can become <em>svinfylking</em>.”</p><p>    “That means… What, pig army?” Gavin asked with a touch of indignation. From bear-skinned warrior to pig army man? That was a downgrade if Gavin’d ever heard one. Mǫgr snorted. </p><p>    “No. Like the <em>berserkr</em> takes the hide of a bear and the <em>úlfheðnar </em>takes the pelt of a wolf, the <em>svinfylking </em>takes the skin of a boar. Freyr’s and Freyja’s beast. We haven’t had someone become <em>svinfylking </em>in years.” That perked Gavin up a bit.</p><p>    “Well I want to be one,” Gavin said. Mǫgr rolled his eyes but said nothing to dissuade Gavin. After a beat of consideration, Gavin remembered how oddly Val had acted the night of Eyesteinn’s attack. “Mǫgr, is Reginnvaldr a <em>berserkr</em>? That night with Eyesteinn, he wouldn’t speak—or, or <em>couldn’t</em> speak—and he didn’t act like himself.” The memories were unpleasant to revisit, but the fear that permeated them wasn’t present in the light of day for which Gavin was grateful. </p><p>    “Yes, he was in a trance, but he’s not a <em>berserkr.</em> He’s an <em>úlfheðinn</em>, a wolf-skinned warrior. Just like the Volsungs before him and Oðinn before them. Only the best of alphas can take the skin of a wolf.” Gavin noted that Mǫgr didn’t sound jealous or upset. </p><p>    “So it’s best to be an <em>úlfheðinn</em> then?” Gavin asked.</p><p>    “Gods no, the strain is horrific. I can’t speak for Reginnvaldr, but from the stories… Alphas can go mad if they stay in the wolf’s mind for too long. They are taken by Fenrir and consumed. I’m content to follow the bear into the forest and back out again, I don’t need to pick my way out of a wolf.”</p><p>    Worry struck at Gavin, and with it struck awe. Val must have been incredibly powerful to don the skin of a wolf and find his way out again. Pride for his alpha battled with worry for him. “Er, you’ve never personally seen anyone get stuck there have you?” Gavin asked, and cringed at the fear obvious in his voice. Mǫgr’s face softened at that and he shook his head.</p><p>    “Never. And even if I had, Reginnvaldr is far too strong to let that happen himself.” When Gavin didn’t look reassured, Mǫgr changed tracks. “So what was that you called me earlier? Mogar? What kind of a name is that?”</p><p>    Gavin smiled weakly. He appreciated Mǫgr trying to distract him from his worry and played in to it. “It’s like a proper warrior name isn’t it? The Mighty Mogar!” </p><p>    “I’m already a warrior,” Mǫgr pointed out with a disbelieving smile. “So Mǫgr’s already a warrior name.” Gavin rolled his eyes and waved his hand as if to brush aside the semantics. </p><p>    “Well if you don’t want Mogar, I suppose I’ll give you some normal name.” Gavin thought for a moment, ignoring Mǫgr’s insistence that he didn’t want a Northumbrian nickname. “How’s Moven? Mather? Millard? Manning? Michael?” He fired off quickly, trying to recall every ‘M’ name he’d heard.</p><p>    “Gods, stop! Yes, whatever, the last one. What was it?” Mǫgr said, sharp laughing punctuating his words. </p><p>    “Michael! I like it, Michael, Michael,” Gavin squeaked, loving the way Mǫgr’s—Michael’s—face transformed when he laughed. If Gavin knew beating him in sparring would open up the normally cranky man, he would have tried much harder much earlier. </p><p>    “I’m never going to hear the end of this fucking name am I?” Michael asked with a faux world-weariness in his voice. The smile on his face belied his true feelings though and Gavin felt genuinely happy for the first time in weeks.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The next two chapters ramp the drama and action up, so enjoy the calm while it lasts ;)</p><p>Historical Shenanigans: </p><p>1) Jeremy comments that they need "six people to do [a raid]." This number was arrived at courtesy of my writer mom, who, when I told her I needed a number of warriors for a Viking raid in my fanfiction, said "Ooh, let's say six. That's a good number." Thanks mom. </p><p>2) There is some HOT debated about whether Svinfylking warriors were real or not. There is no real proof in the Sagas, unlike berserkr and ulfhednar warriors, and most scholars (myself included) tend to think they were a later period fabrication. Alas, the historicity of this gay, a/b/o Viking fanfiction has gone down the drain. F in the chat.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, shit's super fucked. One character is now an original character (really, wasn't he pretty much already an OC?) The naming conventions have changed slightly--including in the earlier chapters--and I'm unsure if I like it. Please let me know what you think about how I went about renaming Reginnvaldr's nickname </p><p>On to more lighthearted things:</p><p>This chapter is dedicated to the absolutely INCREDIBLE <a href="https://peantutbutter.tumblr.com/">Rexie</a> for the STUNNING fanart they made!!!! It's my phone background at the moment and fills me with joy every time I look at it! So much love and appreciation. I'm utterly blown away and so humbled &lt;3 Seriously, I am still speechless and can't believe I inspired someone to MAKE something! Forever grateful &lt;3<br/>I HIGHLY recommend checking out their fanart from the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26895340">source</a> so you can read all their really great inspiration and artistic analysis. Truly splendid work &lt;3</p><p>The song Fiona instructs Gavin in can be found <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3CZpJ2Osrtw">here</a> It's such a fun song, I knew I had to include it somewhere!</p><p>Lastly, eternal thanks to my darling <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a> for ensuring this was readable!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 12</p><p>
  
</p><p>    It was more like a week and a half before they were ready to raid. Geoff had advised Gavin to leave Ribe in the capable, if not somewhat intimidating, hands of Stefi and Sága and the women were more than happy to oversee the clan in Gavin’s absence. Sága even said—with a wry smile and the air of a woman who was used to running things when the men in her life inevitably disappointed her—that Reginnvaldr frequently deferred to her expertise when he had to travel with his circle. Gavin still felt uneasy leaving Ribe, but the hyper-competency of the women helped abate his worries.</p><p>    Things had been going well for Michael too, despite his grumbling about training warriors up from nothing. Gavin admitted that he himself was probably the weakest fighter out of all of them. Jerbjorn, Michael, Geoff, Finna, Gavin himself, and a man he’d met only a few times before named Álfráðr. He was tall with darker skin and raven-black hair. He was lean but strong, and had a steady head on his shoulders as far as Gavin knew. What he really cared about was that his name was blessedly easy to say and reminded Gavin of the Ænglisc name Ælfræd. He’d take that over another one of the notoriously complex northern names any day.</p><p>    Finna had proven herself a quick worker, securing one of Ribe’s smaller longships for sail in record time and with Geoff’s help, had outfitted it with enough food for the short trip. When Gavin raised concern over how little they planned to take along, Geoff reassured him that the less they brought, the more they could bring back, which Gavin supposed made sense.</p><p>    Despite everything being ready—and Michael even assuring him he was fine to fight—Gavin was worried about everything. He was worried about food, about arms, about their little raiding outfit, about his strength, about his ability to kill another person, about the journey over. It seemed every moment his mind was unoccupied, worry gnawed at his belly like the hunger he was trying to stop from coming. It was both a blessing and a curse when Geoff said they were ready to leave the next day.</p><p>    Excepting his short passage across the Narrow Sea, Gavin couldn’t remember a time he’d sailed. Even stepping on the still-docked boat had his stomach roiling and legs wobbling and he dreaded the days long voyage to wherever it was they were going. Jerbjorn and Finna seemed to know where that was and Gavin was content to let them have charge of navigating.</p><p>    “Gav, secure the <em>hals</em> will you?” Jerbjorn called, vaguely gesturing in the direction of the sail. At Gavin’s blank stare, Jerbjorn chuckled and waved him over. He grabbed a long coil of rope attached to one end of the sail and fastened it over a raised part of the ship, looping it over itself and effectively keeping the sail taught. “<em>Hals</em>,” he said pointing to the rope holding the edge of the sail. “Secure it to pull the sail open into the wind so they wind can push us.” He gestured to other parts of the boat, throwing out words that Gavin was almost entirely sure were nonsense. “<em>Dagreip</em>,” he pointed to a rope going from the sail to one of the carved heads at either end of the boat. “<em>Stag</em>,” a rope leading to the other carved head. “<em>Siglutré</em>,” the wooden pole holding up the sail.</p><p>    “I know what a mast is Lil’ J,” Gavin complained. “I’m not stupid.”</p><p>    “I know you’re not,” Jerbjorn insisted. “But you’ve never sailed before, and if we get into a bad situation, I need to be able to tell you do something and have you know what I mean.”</p><p>    “You don’t expect anything to happen, do you?” Gavin asked warily. Jerbjorn was quick to shake his head. </p><p>    “I don’t, but it’s always better to be prepared than not.”</p><p>    Gavin supposed that was true, and so he listened as Jerbjorn walked him through each part of the longship. Gavin was proud to say his attention only wandered twice. Or maybe three times. But Jerbjorn seemed satisfied enough with his recollection of the ship parts and by then they were ready to depart. </p><p>    “Cast off the mooring lines!” Finna called and Gavin was amazed at the speed to which everyone jumped to their stations. Gavin followed Jerbjorn to one side of the ship’s oar system and sat behind him, hands lightly gripping the wood. “Man the oars!” Finna called again from her place at the front of the ship, and Gavin obeyed, bringing the oar upright and out of the water. “<em>Larbord</em>!” Gavin recognized that as his side of the boat and heard Jerbjorn’s oar creak in time with his as they pushed out and down. “<em>Steorbord</em>!” Gavin glanced to Geoff and Michael, who both seamlessly brought their own oars down. “And we’re off!” Finna shouted, voice high with excitement. Gavin heard Álfráðr start drumming a steady beat out on a deerskin drum, keeping both sides of the ship in motion at the same time. It took approximately ten rows for Gavin’s arms to ache. It took another fifteen for him to complain.</p><p>    “Fuck is it always this awful?” Gavin asked as quietly as he could. Jerbjorn snorted. </p><p>    “Once we get a bit further out the sail will kick in, and if we’re lucky we won’t have to do anything.” Gavin groaned and when Jerbjorn only laughed at him, he pouted. Hopefully they’d be out sooner rather than later because despite the muscle Gavin had gained from training with Michael, he wasn’t used to rowing and it was damn near killing him.</p><p>    “We ever going to switch off with Finna and Álfráðr?” Gavin asked hopefully. </p><p>    “Finna’s out best bet at navigating and ‘Fráðr’s wrists can’t handle the rowing for more than a few minutes,” Jerbjorn said. “Some foul magic splinters his bones whenever he holds his wrists a certain way for too long.”</p><p>    “His wrists splinter!?” Gavin asked, a little louder than he meant to. Flushing, he snuck a glance at Álfráðr who smiled and waved, impressively not missing a beat on the drum. </p><p>    “Yeah they’re pretty fucked up,” he called to Gavin jovially. “Don’t worry, they’ll be fine for the raid so long as I don’t wear them out on rowing beforehand.” Gavin nodded mutely and turned back to his rowing, face still red. His arms hurt.</p><p>    It took another hour of rowing, by which point Gavin felt close to tears with how pained his muscles felt, but finally the wind kicked up enough to relieve him. </p><p>    “Alright, the wind should be enough,” Finna said. Gavin couldn’t restrain the cheer he let out and refused to feel embarrassed at Michael’s snicker. He would bloody fight Michael if he said anything about it. After he’d had a rest, of course.</p><p>    Gavin got to his feet and winced at the numbness in his buttocks. It paired nicely with the soreness of his upper body making Gavin want to lay on his stomach and sleep for ten years.</p><p>    “Jer, need me to do anything else?” Gavin asked. When he received a head shake in response, Gavin grinned and stretched before gingerly lying on his side against the mast, or what Jerbjorn had called the <em>siglutré</em>. It was impossible to actually sleep with the rushing of the waves and the winds whipping around him, but Gavin was tired and sore enough to drift, half asleep in the hazy sun and the relaxing sound of the waves. It was a welcome respite before they would have to row again or until Finna had some other task for Gavin to fulfill.</p><p>    Time passed in waves, varying in feeling much too slow and much too fast. Without his ordinary chores to keep him occupied, Gavin quickly grew bored, which was never a good thing. </p><p>⁂</p><p>    “All the gold in the world,” Gavin told Geoff one day, “But you have to fight your blue chicken. And it’s the size of a horse. Would you take it?” Geoff rolled his eyes and shoved Gavin. </p><p>    “Nah, I have a better one,” Michael said, a considering look on his face. “All the gold in the world, but once a month you get attacked by a random animal.”</p><p>    “What, like any animal?” Álfráðr asked from the back of the boat, wrangling the tack. “What if it was a wolf? Or a bear?”</p><p>    “Well you’d have to fight off a bear then, wouldn’t you?” Michael replied smugly. His voice went up several octaves and adopted a goofy tone. “Or else little Fredy-do’s gettin’ chomped.”</p><p>    “I’d take the shit out of that!” Jerbjorn cried, Finna’s cheers of agreement sounding in the background. Gavin rolled his eyes. </p><p>    “Nah, fuck that,” Álfráðr said. “Too much risk, too much bullshit, I got stuff to do, you know?” Michael nodded vigorously in agreement. </p><p>    “I wouldn’t do it, no way.”</p><p>⁂</p><p>    “…And then you go back to the chorus, and then it’s just verse and chorus until the end.” Finna said. It was dusk and the sun sank lower towards the horizon, sending waves made of gold and foam crashing against the longship. “You’ll learn all the verses eventually, but for now just worry about your one verse and the chorus. It sounds better when a few different people are playing the drum and someone else has a string ringing, but that’s okay.” </p><p>    “It’s really about Reginnvaldr’s great great grandfather?” Gavin asked curiously. Though he’d heard the feats of Ragnar, the idea of another one of Reginnvaldr’s forefathers slaying dragons for fun seemed unlikely. </p><p>    “It really is, Sigurd the dragonslayer.”</p><p>    Jerbjorn stomped his feet in a basic pattern on the ship bottom, while Álfráðr beat out a more complex rhythm on the deerskin drum. They were accompanied by the ship-wood’s creaking and the wind whipping relentlessly against the sail, a surprising concordance of natural and calculated sounds that blended together in an approximation of harmony. After a few beats, Finna started the first verse. </p><p>
  <em>    “The worm slipped from the gold,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    Each man this should know.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    Sigurd sat on Grane’s back</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    Boldly forth he rode!”</em>
</p><p>    Geoff let out a loud whoop of excitement and laughter filled the air as everyone struggled to keep up with Jerbjorn’s and Álfráðr’s beat to sing the chorus.</p><p>    <em>“Grane carried the gold off the moor,</em></p><p>
  <em>    Grane carried the gold off the moor,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    Sigurd swings the sword in anger.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    Sigurd over the worm won,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    Grane carried the gold off the moor.”</em>
</p><p>    Gavin cackled with excitement. He’d heard many songs in his time in the north, but this one was by far his favorite. It may have been the exhaustion from sailing and from feeling drunk off the sun beating upon his brow all day, but Geoff’s stumbling words, Jerbjorn’s excited smile, Finna’s laughter leaking through the song, and Michael and Álfráðr’s intentionally off-key singing had Gavin rolling with laughter. It didn’t all feel so scary now. The comforting wonder of a shared song settled over him like a blanket. </p><p>⁂</p><p>    It took them another two days of constant travel before Finna excitedly declared she saw land. Gavin swiveled his head to where she pointed but couldn’t see anything. He furrowed his brow and blinked a few times to see if the mass would shift into focus, but nothing changed. Jerbjorn noticed his confusion and laughed. “Finna’s about the only person with eyes that sharp. Try looking to the side, you can find the land easier from the corner of your eye.”</p><p>    Gavin did just that and was surprised to see a dark shape form at the horizon. “That’s weird,” he declared and rubbed at his eyes. Jerbjorn shrugged. </p><p>    Despite glancing land, it was deceptively far and it was past nightfall when they finally hit the shore. The deep sea’s roiling waves seemed almost gentle in comparison to  how harsh the shallows and beaching felt. Gavin made sure to silently congratulate himself and thank the god Njörðr for keeping the waters calm enough that he didn’t vomit. He would have never heard the end of it otherwise.</p><p>    Álfráðr held a lit torch high above everyone’s head while they shakily disembarked. Gavin’s legs most certainly had forgotten they were legs, and he immediately fell over upon setting foot on the sand. Michal gave his characteristic barking laugh, despite swaying dangerously when he set his own feet in the ground.</p><p>    “Piss off!” Gavin groaned into the sand. He shoved himself to his feet and used every bit of will power he had to stay upright despite every muscle in his body insisting that the ground was moving like the waves under the ship.</p><p>    Michael followed, but stayed close to the ship. “Let’s get the shit off here and get something to eat. I’m ready to get some fighting done.”</p><p>    They started a line, Geoff passing weapons and armor to Finna, who passed it to Jerbjorn, who passed it to Michael, who threw it carelessly on the sand behind him. Gavin watched for a few moments before deciding to make himself busy by sorting the cargo into piles more carefully than Michael had done. Food, then weapons and armor by     who it belonged to. Finna’s long, almost dainty spear. Álfráðr’s yew bow and quiver filled with arrows. Michael’s entirely too heavy round shield. Various bits of leather and metal armor. </p><p>    With the five of them working, and Álfráðr keeping the area lit, they were done quickly and were soon gathered around a small fire on the beach. Jerbjorn quickly fashioned a cook stick for a rather large fish he’d caught on the trip over, insisting in a voice that may have been an impression of a Frankish drunkard, that he was “Just a simple fisherman.”</p><p>    It was silent for a moment, and Gavin hesitated to break the calm with what was undoubtedly a novice question. He did so anyway. “Er, so where exactly is this monastery?”</p><p>    “If I remember, it’s less than a mile inland of here. Shouldn’t be too hard to get there and back here. Bet we can even fashion a sled to lug everything back.” Jerbjorn said. Finna nodded her agreement. </p><p>    “I think we’re maybe a little to the north of where you marked on the map, but close enough that it shouldn’t be an issue,” Finna tilted her head back to examine the coast and incline up to the land. “I think we might even be at an advantage being a bit to the north, we’ll have the higher ground on the monastery.”</p><p>    Gavin nodded, though he wasn’t sure exactly what advantage it was that they gained from having higher ground. He nodded along anyways, and took a piece of the cooked fish Jerbjorn offered him. It was tender enough that Gavin could pull a bit of flesh right off the fish, leaving bone behind. He missed Reginnvaldr terribly in that moment, with his fingers slippery with fish. Using utensils in Ribe did not feel him with this kind of longing, but something about using his fingers to eat inspired thoughts of hand-feeding and a distractingly significant part of Gavin longed for it.</p><p>    He swallowed the largely flavorless meat. It wasn’t very tasty, and was even less desirable for having to feed it to himself with his own fingers, but it was hot and filling. By the time the fish was nothing but small bones, it was discarded on the sand next to its scales and innards, left as a bounty for a peckish seagull.</p><p>    It was then that the group began to arm themselves. Gavin noted that he had the most armor. He wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that, sure he was the newest fighter, but it worried him that his friends were so exposed. Geoff was practically naked for Oðinn’s sake, only his ordinary clothing shielding him! </p><p>    Other than Gavin with his comparatively hefty assortment of protection, the others were quick to ready themselves. Jerbjorn heaved his round shield up and wrapped its attached strap around his torso, letting the blue and grey per saltire coloring settle on his back. He passed Gavin a rather unimaginative shield, a faded red undivided field that had definitely seen some use, but it was surprisingly light in his hand, and the worn grip was small enough that he could manipulate the shield’s position easily. While nowhere near as pretty as Jerbjorn’s per saltire shield or the bear and flower gyronny design of Geoff’s shield, it would work.</p><p>    Gavin followed Jerbjorn’s lead and strapped the shield around his torso. He took an offered hand-axe, looping its sheath on his belt. A glance around told him that, at last, everyone was ready to go. He swallowed nervously.</p><p>    “May Oðinn grant us victory on this day,” Michael said, getting to his feet with some heavy reliance on his sword. He laced a heavy piece of tanned leather on his injured thigh and rolled his shoulders. “And may he grant us enough gold to buy out Paris!”</p><p>    Jerbjorn snorted and slapped Michael heavily on the back. “And maybe a new fucking leg for you, huh?” Being uninjured, Jerbjorn dodged Michael’s shove of retaliation with ease, laughing all the while. </p><p>    “Fuck off, it works fine now. Just stiff.” </p><p>    Regardless of how true that statement was, Gavin noted Michael used the wooden crutch Geoff thrust upon him as the group slowly made their way inland. It was very dark, the torch in Álfráðr’s hands their only guide through untamed grassland. Nerves started building in Gavin as they walked, making his legs wobbly and hands shaky. He nervously fingered at the axe strapped to his side, reassuring himself that the steel was still there. The hard leather helmet pinched uncomfortably at the top of his head and the heavy cloth gambeson Michael forced him to wear under his tunic was hot, sticking to him with sweat despite the group’s leisurely pace and the cool night air.</p><p>    It wasn’t long before Gavin could see a distantly flickering lantern light dimly illuminating a stone structure. They were here. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Got some brief historical shenanigans for you here. Not a lot of detail today because I'm utterly wiped out from midterms. Many apologies &lt;3 </p><p>1) A lot of the sailing terms Jeremy teaches Gav are actually Old English (and in some cases Middle English) words. Alas, sometimes we need to make allowances for the linguistic overlap between OE and ON!</p><p>2) The shield colorings are period accurate! Being an SCAdian, I combed through their heraldry sites for info on flags, shields, and devices, so any of those mentioned in the fic are thanks to the nerdiness of the SCA! More on heraldry <a>here.</a></p><p>3) All sailing information was taken from my experiences sailing in Mexico with my abuelo. The stuff I wasn't sure on (speed, handling, etc.) I asked him for advice on. He is very excited to have been a part of my "Gay Werewolf Erotica" and hopes you all enjoy his contributions to historical accuracy. ¡Qué guay! y muchas gracias a mi abuelo rudo &lt;3</p><p>[tired but evil cackling about the cliffhanger] See you next week folks!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Back at it again! You may have noticed that this is now a Gav/OC fic. Hopefully that won't derail your enjoyment &lt;3 I would love feedback on past and future chapters regarding naming conventions! Is is jarring to have Reginnvaldr's full name in text, and then have Gav (and only Gav) refer to him in speech as Val? Let me know your thoughts! </p><p>Beloved <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a> ensured this chapter was readable and we are forever in their debt for it!</p><p>A warning for this chapter: Even more than chapter 8 (Eyesteinn's attack,) this chapter is heavy on violence, death, suspense, and religious guilt/philosophy. Please take care of yourselves and see the end notes for a brief summary if you need! Old English/Ænglisc is italicized.</p><p>Lastly, and quite unfortunately, there will not be a fic update next week. I'm so sorry! School+mental health are just absolutely overwhelming and I need to catch up on editing the next chapter because it's a train wreck in its current state.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 13</p><p>    Gavin was surprised how quietly their group crept upon the monastery. Even Michael, who Gavin was used to associating with noise and a loud voice was near-silent as he moved through the tall grasses. Gavin thought he himself was the loudest among them, all awkward movements and limbs unused to armor. No one told him to move more quietly though, and Gavin took that as a small mercy.</p><p>    Two massive doors, made of a rich red wood, guarded the chapel entrance. Gavin nervously followed behind Jerbjorn on to the church porch. The wind was beginning to pick up and it whistled ominously through the covered walkway leading to the doors. Their footsteps were impossibly loud on the carefully laid stone. <em>Thunk, thunk, thunk</em>. Gavin gripped his shield tighter.</p><p>    Michael took a deep breath and held it for so long Gavin was worried he was going to pass out, but he didn’t. Instead, he opened his eyes and started…well it was almost like a growl. A type of rumbling hum that shook Gavin down to his very bones. Like thunder. It was the same continuous, rumbling roar Reginnvaldr had given when fighting Eyesteinn, Gavin realized. Some kind of horrific northman’s warning. Michael unsheathed his sword and hit it against his shield, the pommel striking the metal banding and producing a deafening crash.</p><p>    Without a word, he and Jerbjorn simultaneously shoved against the wooden door, which cracked open with no resistance. They were in. The chapel was illuminated only by moonlight and the group quickly moved in, unconcerned of any occupants they might find. Álfráðr’s torch revealed several tall candlesticks resting atop the altar, framing a perfectly hanged cross.</p><p>    “Spread out,” Finna commanded. “Don’t go setting something on fire yet, and that means you Jerbjorn!” The man in question affixed the most unbelievable innocent expression Gavin had even seen and Finna snorted. “Gav, you’re with Mǫgr.”</p><p>    Gavin nodded, he didn’t think he could do this alone. And being with Michael gave him the opportunity to make sure Michael didn’t hurt his leg without it being obvious.</p><p>    Michael led the way through the chapel and down one of the outside cloister. He made no attempt at silence, continuing that eerie rolling growl and periodically banging his shield, and so Gavin didn’t concern himself with stepping carefully either. It didn’t take long before a lone monk stuck his head outside a door. </p><p>    “<em>God in heaven!</em>” The man screeched, the Ænglisc tongue shocking Gavin into stillness. It had been so long since he’d heard his native language and it sent unpleasant jolts of awareness through him. “<em>Attack! Attack! Att—</em>” before he could finish, Michael’s sword ran the man through and he collapsed on the ground with a gurgle. The sight was sickening and the screams echoing off the stone monastery, both distant and near, didn’t help Gavin’s horror. He was a part of this. This was <em>his</em> fault.</p><p>    The door to the room was well lit and Michael strode in immediately, leaving Gavin with no choice but to follow. The inside was larger than Gavin expected. A few half-filled bookshelves lined the walls, dimly illuminated by beeswax candles resting atop one of the scribal desks. The monk must have been up late, painstakingly copying texts. A stylus stood, forgotten, in jar of dark ink. The parchment open on the table had flecks of ink dotting the unfinished page, like its scribe hadn’t wiped enough ink from his stylus before beginning. Something human and mundane. It made bile rise in Gavin’s throat.</p><p>    Michael, apparently seeing nothing of interest in the room, exited out the same door, leaving Gavin to trail behind him in a haze. Despite Finna’s insistence that no one set fire to anything before they were done, smoke was billowing out of a nearby wooden building and flames flickered brightly enough that the central courtyard was cast in a hazy glow. Gavin hoped the monastery was as much stone as it looked. </p><p>    They made their way through the walkway and to a grand archway. Though the inside was dark, Gavin could make out the faint shapes of benches and tables. Michael confidently strode through the archway despite the limp to his leg. There wasn’t anything of importance in the refectory, but the door off of it, located at the back, opened into the kitchen. That was good, Gavin reminded himself, that meant they could take food back to Ribe. </p><p>    Michael must have realized this too because his unfocused eyes flickered a bit and the rolling rumble stopped. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a moment before opening them and focusing on Gavin for the first time since entering the monastery. “Let’s get any food into the stone walkway and then we’ll get the others to help carry it down to the ship,” he said. Gavin nodded.</p><p>    The two made quick work of the kitchen, though the joined storeroom took significantly more time to clear. Gavin was sweating by the time they’d thrown the last sack of cabbage in the hall and rolled the last barrel of salted fish out. He was grateful that Michael was in his own mind again, at least. Gavin shuddered to think how he would have managed to clear the kitchen if he’d still been a <em>berserkr</em>.</p><p>    “Let’s find the others and let them know we found food,” Michael said when they were done. “Some of us can stay behind to clear the rest of the rooms and the rest can start carrying it all back.” Gavin nodded in relieved agreement. The sooner he could get back to the ship and forget this had all happened, the better. Perhaps there would come a day where he wouldn’t look upon it with such guilt and horror. A day where the determination and drive he felt before seeing the monk killed prevailed against the God-fearing terror that raged through him. </p><p>    “FINNA!” Michael shouted, so loudly that it had Gavin jumping in fright. “WE GOT THE GOODS!”</p><p>    A faint cry of “Meet up!” sounded and Gavin and Michael headed back to the chapel. The chapel itself was more lit this time, the doors wide open and light from whatever fire Jerbjorn set flickering in through the porch and the chapel’s panes of stained glass. Gavin tried not to look too closely at the scenes depicted on the glass, warped and hellish with fire behind them.</p><p>    Finna and Álfráðr quickly returned to the chapel, followed by Jerbjorn and Geoff. The latter had flecks of blood peppering his face, looking disturbingly similar to how he did after spending a day butchering chickens. Gavin swallowed, but his throat stuck and made him cough.</p><p>    “Got a bunch of food in the hall a bit that ways,” Michael said gesturing the direction they’d come from with his head. “Anything on your end?”</p><p>    “A whole <em>fuck-ton</em> of beer!” Jerbjorn exclaimed, eyes bright and excited. “We’re going to get rowdy for <em>days</em>!” Geoff rolled his eyes. </p><p>    “And more importantly,” he held up a pyx cup, the topper of the eucharist container gleaming and obviously rich. “Two are definitely silver, one might be bronze, we’ll have to look closer tomorrow.”</p><p>    “Some candles and holders on our end,” Álfráðr said. “Finna found some coin too, but not as much as we hoped for.” </p><p>    “Still better than nothing though,” Finna added.</p><p>    “Let’s start getting all that food you found back to the ship,” Geoff said, nodding to Michael and Gavin. “Michael, Finna, and Álfráðr can start packing it back on, what do you say?” At Michael’s immediate protests and claims that he wanted to keep looting, Geoff shook his head firmly and fixed his mate with a stern look. “You’ve already been putting more weight on your leg than you should have, for longer than you should have.” When Michael looked ready to argue further, Geoff fixed him with a stare that would have a lesser man cowed. “Do you really want me to tell Jack you intentionally hurt yourself on a raid while you were still healing?” </p><p>    Needless to say, Michael quickly acquiesced.</p><p>    Gavin wished that Geoff had suggested he return to load up the ship. He was jittery and the distant shouts of monks fleeing their home was doing nothing to help him. The large wooden cross affixed to the chapel’s altar seemed to loom over him, judging. How he wished Geoff would have sent him to help load the ship.</p><p>    Gavin briefly considered asking to switch off with Finna or Álfráðr, but quickly discarded the thought. He would be no use to his clansmen if he begged off the grittier side of northern life. How weak would he have seemed? A frightened Northumbrian <em>omega</em>, useless when it counted and fearful without his mate around. No, Gavin mentally berated himself, he couldn’t be that. He <em>refused</em> to be that.</p><p>    “Let’s start doing a last sweep of the grounds,” Jerbjorn said, just as excited as he was before they began. “I’ll take the western half of the outside.” </p><p>    “I’ll take the southern half. If we’ve got those three in this part of the monastery, can you take the back half, Gav? It’s just an empty sleeping quarters and a room with a bunch of books.” </p><p>    “<em>Library</em>,” Gavin said distractedly. “Yeah, I’ll take them. I’ll go help loading team when I’m done.” He was half tempted to skip checking anyways, knowing Geoff has already cleared the rooms in question and dreading seeing more dead bodies. He’d make it as quick as possible.</p><p>    Gavin exited the chapel the same way Geoff and Jeremy originally did, along a stone cloister on the other side of the monastery’s interior courtyard. His footsteps echoed on the stone, and the bits of steel amor he wore clinked against one another. Despite the noise from the fire happily devouring whatever Jeremy set it to and the distant yells and laughs of his clan, Gavin felt almost insularly alone. Isolated, in a chasm of nighttime, with only the omnipresence of the Æsir to witness him. How did God feel, Gavin wondered, watching his wretched creation condemn itself further with every breath?</p><p>    The massive sleeping quarters, despite being made entirely of stone, was filled with flames. Fire licked up the posts of modest wooden beds and charred the cross hanging on the far wall. Gavin coughed at the building smoke and gave the room a cursory glance. There was no one left in the quarters, save a dead man with arms outstretched, like he had been trying to crawl to a respite from the horror they inflicted. Gavin made no move to draw closer. </p><p>    The cloister seemed even darker for the firelight still burned into Gavin’s eyes and he stumbled his way clumsily to the library. He hadn’t been in a library since leaving Castle Bamburgh. It was a little thing, attached to the castle’s private chapel, and Gavin’s Latin had never been good enough to read the heavy texts, despite his father’s urges to apply himself to ecclesiastical work. Gavin didn’t want to see this library now, its books set aflame by his clan’s hand,  marred by blood. </p><p>    The library was larger than the one at Castle Bamburgh, Gavin noted somewhat hysterically. Flames danced up the sides of the large bookshelves, curling rough parchment edges and filling the air with a acrid smoke. Amidst sounds of the wood splintering and flames crackling, Gavin could hear a hoarse voice alternating between horrified whimpers and feverish prayers.</p><p>    “<em>O Lord, who didst give to Thine Apostles peace, shed down upon us all Thy holy calm; gather together with Thy hand all those who are scattered, and bring them like sheep into the fold of Thy holy Church, through Jesus Christ our Lord…</em>” Gavin started at the words, the prayer reminding him of sitting still in Castle Bamburgh’s chapel during service, nibbling hidden sweets that he’d begged off Cook. He swallowed and stepped towards the voice, which wavered at the noise of Gavin’s armor jostling. </p><p>    “<em>S-strengthen and confirm me, O Lord, by Thy Cross, on the r-rock of faith, that my mind be not shaken by the a-a-attacks of the enemy. For Thou alone art holy.</em>” The hoarse voice was thick and shaky, like its owner was struggling to speak through tears. Gavin brushed against a burning bookshelf, sending forth a cascade of sparks. The library was quickly filling with smoke and it made his eyes burn, made his throat sore. It was too similar to the great hall in Ribe burning, trapping him inside. Gavin’s heart beat furiously in his chest. The room grew smaller.</p><p>    Another tentative step forward. Gavin rounded a row of bookshelves. </p><p>    “<em>Thou kn-knowest, O Lord, how many and g-great are my sins, Thou knowest how often I s-sin, from day to day, from hour to hour, in the things I do and the things I l-leave undone.</em>”</p><p>    What was worse in the eyes of God, Gavin wondered, to sin by doing, or to sin by neglecting? Were he to leave this monk to die by the flame, would that sin be lesser than slaying the man himself? Somehow, Gavin didn’t think it mattered. His sins were numbered far too great to warrant philosophy. </p><p>    The monk was huddled under a sturdy desk, one arm wrapped around his head, hand resting on the hair of his tonsure, the other clutching a small cross, tied to a necklace. He rocked back and forth, eyes clenched tightly shut. He was like a child, rocking for comfort and imagining that the danger could not see him if he couldn’t see it. His side was a bloody mess, humble brown robes stained a deep red. He wouldn’t last much longer. Gavin took a step closer.</p><p>    “<em>No more, O Lord, no more! O Lord my God, will I provoke Thee; no more shall my desire be for anything but Thee,</em>”  the monk’s words were nearly incomprehensible through his sobs. “<em>And if again I offend in anything, I humbly beseech Thee of Thy mercy to grant me strength to find favor again in Thy sight a-and—</em>” The monk cut himself off with a great shuddering gasp as Gavin stopped, just before the cowering man. </p><p>    “<em>I’m sorry,</em>” Gavin whispered, tongue stiff and unused to speaking in his mother tongue for so long. “<em>Would you like to finish your prayer?</em>”</p><p>    The monk opened his eyes, though his hands still clutched helplessly at his hair and cross. His eyes were bloodshot, wet from fear and smoke. He was terrified. <em>I’ve done this, I’ve done this</em>. The monk said nothing, but eyed Gavin in incredulity. </p><p>    “<em>Would you like me to leave you to the fire, or to end it now?</em>” Gavin tried instead, making his voice as kind as possible through the smoke. The monk shook even harder at his words, but his eyes darted to Gavin’s still-sheathed hand axe. He glanced back to Gavin and gave an almost imperceptible nod.</p><p>    Is action or inaction the greater sin, Gavin wondered again, trying his hardest not to burst into tears himself. He needed to leave, the smoke was beginning to stifle him. He withdrew the axe and gripped it tightly to stop shaking. It didn’t work.</p><p>    “<em>O’ God,</em>” Gavin said quietly. He knelt down in front of the dying man. “<em>You always bestow your mercy on those who love you, and are near those who serve you. Direct the way of your servant in your will.</em>” Gavin nodded at the wide-eyed monk; allowing him this last compassion was a pittance for the horror Gavin had brought to this place. “<em>Protect and guide him,</em>” the monk closed his eyes, lowering the hand clutching his hair to clasp the cross. Gavin slowly got to his feet as he spoke, readying his axe. He would make it quick.</p><p>“<em>That he may walk without stumbling in the paths of righteousness, through Jesus Christ our Lord,</em>” the monk shuddered violently, and Gavin gave him a moment to collect himself before the end of the prayer. “<em>Amen</em>.”</p><p>    He swung the axe harder than he’d ever done before. The sound of metal cutting through flesh sent his stomach into immediate fits, and the river of hot blood drenched his hands, running down his arms and dripping onto his shoes. His axe was slippery and Gavin struggled to hold the suddenly heavy weapon. </p><p>    There was no time to linger. The heat and smoke were becoming unbearable and Gavin needed to get out of there before he collapsed. With one last look around the library, Gavin left. </p><p>    The outside air was clearer, but light and smoke from other fires filled the monastery. Gavin headed back towards the chapel, silently begging the shadows lining the stone of the cloister to leave him be. Despite no shadows lurching towards him, Gavin couldn’t help but feel they followed him into the chapel, sticking to him like pitch for his sins.</p><p>    “Gav, you okay?” Came Jerbjorn’s voice. Gavin turned to him slowly, feeling like he was fighting through tar. The adrenaline of the night was disappearing, leaving him fatigued and stupid. “Gav?”</p><p>    “‘M fine,” Gavin said softly. “It’s all clear over that way.”</p><p>    Jerbjorn didn’t look convinced but nodded anyways. He heaved a sack of wheat up and pointed at an accompanying sack for Gavin. The two made their way back towards the ship, the light from Jerbjorn’s torch providing some light in the otherwise endless night. Halfway down, they ran into Geoff.</p><p>    “How much more?” He asked Jerbjorn. “Finna’s coming up in a second to help, she’s just bullying Mǫgr into sitting down.” Jerbjorn snorted.</p><p>    “Few more sacks of wheat and then the barrel of fish. You secure the second ale barrel?” He sounded genuinely worried over the alcohol. Had Gavin the energy to, he’d have smiled at the predictability of his friend. As it was though, he was more focused on standing upright and holding the wheat sack than anything else. </p><p>    The ship, when they got to it, was filled with all manner of looted goods. Michael was being forcefully situated on one of the rowing benches with an irate looking Finna waving her finger at him. “If you so much as <em>look </em>like you’re gonna move, I’m gonna <em>rage</em>,” she said. </p><p>    Gavin dropped his sack of wheat off next to Jerbjorn and followed him. All. The. Way. Back. Another sack of wheat. All the way down. All the way back. Two sacks of lettuce. All the way down. All the way back. Two golden candlesticks. All the way down. By the time they had moved all the food and various trinkets back to the ship, Gavin’s vision was blurring and his hands were shaking, the final dregs of energy slipping through his fingers. Gavin finally collapsed into the ship, elbows on his knees and head buried in his hands. It was lighter outside, despite the sun only just threatening to break the skyline. He shuddered to think of the long day of sailing they inevitably had before them. Gavin wasn’t even sure if he <em>could</em> move from his spot on the row bench. At least not without falling over.</p><p>    “You good?” asked Michael, quietly. He sounded surprisingly sympathetic, for his usually gruff attitude and constant teasing. </p><p>    “Tired,” Gavin said. He meant to say more, but his lungs refused to inflate enough to push the words through his mouth. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the ship side. He’d have to get up soon, but maybe a couple seconds of peace would energize him enough to help get the ship ready. He grimaced when he remembered the rowing they’d need to get through the surf. Tears pricked at his eyes. He just wanted to sleep.</p><p>    A blanket was draped over his shoulders. It smelled like home. Like horses and pine. The comfort made his tears fall freely, such a small act of love allowing for the fear and confusion to finally surface. Gavin pulled the edges of the blanket in closer, effectively wrapping himself in its comfort.</p><p>    Gavin felt the ship lurch unpleasantly, and the sensation startled him to his feet, blanket still clutched tightly. He was the only one on the ship, the others were pushing and pulling the ship further into the water. Gavin hurried to untangle himself from the blanket despite every fiber in his body complaining. He wouldn’t force himself to sit useless while everyone else worked. Even Michael, leg shaky and not fully healed, was helping. </p><p>    But they were already in the water, and Gavin guiltily glanced at his friends as they boarded the ship and took their positions.</p><p>    “Hey,” Geoff said softly, grabbing the blanket from the floor and re-wrapping Gavin with it. Something felt off about the touch, too warm, too tight, and Gavin flinched. Geoff either didn’t notice, or didn’t care, and he gently pushed Gavin back down until he sat on the rowing bench. </p><p>    Geoff crouched down beside Gavin, sleepy eyes worried. “You’ve got blood on your face Gav, you okay?” He lifted his hand to wipe it away, and Gavin’s mind screamed at the sight. His tongue was leaden, his throat too dry, he couldn’t speak. So he growled. </p><p>    It was weak, and brittle, the sound someone might expect of a dying dog, but it got the message across. The guilt that enveloped Gavin at Geoff’s worried, hurt expression threatened to overwhelm him, so he lifted the blanket over his head and closed his eyes.</p><p>    He must have fallen asleep at one point, because when Gavin next opened his eyes it was to the bright sun beating down on him. Warmed from both the sun and the blanket, Gavin wiggled until he could stand and discard the blanket. The rush of cool ocean air against his sweaty skin was a welcome relief from the heat and Gavin took a moment to stretch, careful not to fall over on the rocking boat. He rubbed a hand over his face and blanched at the tackiness. He had forgotten the blood and the monk in his waking. </p><p>    A glance around the ship showed Finna matter-of-factly lecturing Jerbjorn by the front of the ship. Michael leaned against the side of the ship, laughing at the lecturing and Álfráðr shook his head at their shenanigans. It was a sweet sight and Gavin was torn between feeling peace at its normalcy or unnerved at how easily they managed after the horrors of the previous night.</p><p>    “How you holding up?” Geoff’s voice came. Gavin tensed at the sound of a voice behind him and swiveled around so quickly he almost fell over. Geoff looked worried.</p><p>    “I…” Gavin’s tongue was clumsy and his head felt stuffed full of cotton. The sun beat down upon him so harshly he felt almost blinded. He could feel the tacky blood on his face melting in the heat, the sharp, iron smell leaking into the air around him. God it was so hot, and the salty sea air was no longer refreshing him but stifling him, salt coating his throat, warmed by the sun. Iron, salt, heat.</p><p>    Geoff took a step towards Gavin and before he could process the sudden rush of discomfort that ran through his body, Geoff was hugging him. He was shaking, which Geoff seemed to take as a cue to hug him tighter, but it made everything so much worse.</p><p>It was too hot, too tight, too close. Gavin needed to run, he needed to do something. He needed—</p><p>    “STOP!” His voice sounded like someone had scraped iron over stone; harsh and brittle. Geoff’s arms dropped and Gavin wasted no time in darting away from him. The laughter and joking from the others stopped, the only sound the waves crashing against the side of the ship. Gavin couldn’t fathom how he’d found it soothing before. It was maddening. </p><p>    “Gav,” that was Michael, voice softer than usual, but still practical and intent. Gavin darted his eyes to watch Michael’s approach. His hand came up to grip Gavin by the shoulder. </p><p>    “Don’t <em>fucking</em> touch me!” Gavin screamed. His voice broke on the last word, and panic filled him when his throat refused to make the sounds he wanted it to. It’d done the job though. Michael backed off, uncharacteristically stunned and silent at Gavin’s vehemence. A part of Gavin rebelled at his actions, distantly worrying about the repercussions of throwing a tantrum. But it was a small part, and easily overcome by the confused chaos occupying his mind.</p><p>    Gods it smelled awful aboard the ship. Salt and iron and rotting seaweed. The smells baked under the sun, mingling and invading every pore of his body. He wanted to vomit. Gavin shook his head to clear it, but stopped when the action sent him reeling and stumbling. A pair of arms caught him.</p><p>    “Gav,” said Jerbjorn carefully, voice so careful and level that Gavin felt inexplicably soothed. “Gav, do you have cramps? Are you overheating?” Jerbjorn gently led him to the rowing bench and sat him down. His touch wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t unbearable, Gavin noted distantly, and while he smelled too sweet—like overripe fruit—it didn’t send Gavin’s head spinning. </p><p>    Jerbjorn had asked him a question, but Gavin for the life of him couldn’t put meaning to the words. “Jer, what?”</p><p>    Apparently that wasn’t the right thing to say, because Jerbjorn started fussing. A hand to his forehead, another poking at his belly, a nose rudely pressed against his throat. Gavin batted him away at that one, friend or not it was rude to scent someone so intimately. </p><p>    “Gavin, you’re going into heat.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Summary: The gang attacks the monastery, finding lots of food, trinkets, and some coin. They set the monastery ablaze. Gavin is sent to check they've loaded all the food and finds a severely wounded monk cowering in the on-fire library. He prays for the monk in English before killing him. He returns to the boat, feeling disoriented, and quickly falls asleep. When he awakes, Jeremy informs him he's going into heat.</p><p>What a lighthearted chapter, amiright?</p><p>Historical Shenanigans: </p><p>1) A pyx cup is a Catholic vessel used to hold blessed Eucharist. The Danish Vikings plundered many pyx cups (more <a href="https://en.natmus.dk/historical-knowledge/denmark/prehistoric-period-until-1050-ad/the-viking-age/expeditions-and-raids/robbery-of-churches-and-monasteries/">here</a>)</p><p>2) The monk's prayer is <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/48242/48242-h/48242-h.htm#c4">"For Mercy"</a> by Theodore Studita and actually relatively contemporary to this fic!</p><p>3) Gav's prayer is <a href="https://acollectionofprayers.com/tag/8th-century/">"You Make Us Glad"</a> from the Gelasian Sacramentary and a bit older. Seeing as Gavin was studying older liturgical texts at Bamburgh though, it's pretty in character for this to be a prayer he remembers!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So glad to be back and posting another chapter! Thank you everyone for being so patient with me and my lovely beta <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a> while we got our shit together. It paid off because I did very well on my midterms!<br/>So without further ado, I present you chapter fourteen. This is is a nearly 100% non-sexual heat, so the rating remains the same &lt;3</p><p>Y también, ¡feliz Halloween y feliz (temprano) dia de los muertos! Este capítulo está dedicado a mi abuela, quien le hubiera encantado el weirdness, lmao te extraño tita &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 14</p><p>    Gavin’s first heat happened when he was fifteen years old. He wasn’t early, nor was he late, his first heat arrived almost exactly in the middle of when children first presented. </p><p>    It had been an excruciating experience. First came the warmth, so brutal that  Gavin ruined his bedsheets. Sweat drenched everything he touched and left him perpetually damp and overheated. His father had called in a clergyman who prodded Gavin with long oak sticks and proclaimed his humors in a state of disorder.</p><p>    They stuck leeches on him, draining his color. He started shaking in addition to sweating, everything pointing to a fever. So the clergyman, with help from a servant, forced bundles of dried herbs in his mouth, moving his jaw for him and massaging the masses down his throat. They made him vomit and he quickly grew delirious with so many fluids leaving him so rapidly.</p><p>    Shaking, and vomiting, and sweating, and bleeding. He thought he was dying, some unholy plague set upon him as divine retribution for all the sins a boy of fifteen could commit. When Earl Bamburgh visited, he stood close to the door instead of drawing nearer while Gavin cried.</p><p>    “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, father!” He screamed once, when the heat was so bad his nose bled. “I stole one of Cook’s dinner rolls and ate it during mass! Please, please make it stop!” The heat cared not for his confessions of ditching his studies to watch the knights fight or accidentally spilling ink on one of the library’s books. No matter how many sins he confessed, the heat raged on, Gavin’s voice steadily growing hoarse and eventually lost altogether from his confessions. The clergyman listened to Gavin’s less than perfect contrition and shortly after took his leave. </p><p>    It was only a few hours later that Gavin’s first heat came to its end. </p><p>    There was nothing else it could have been. Earl Bamburgh tried telling Gavin that he was a beta and that the heat had truly been a divine plague for a while, but there was no way to keep the charade up. So soon after his first heat, Earl Bamburgh sent for a variety of tinctures and powders, herbs and poultices, specifically to mask Gavin’s wretchedness. A life hidden, possibly in the church to aid his father’s political career, was the best Gavin could hope for.</p><p>    It was possible. Gavin had learned how to suppress his omegean instincts, the foul smelling herbs he took every few months saved him from living through another heat, and most importantly of all, no one had been able to scent through the scent-dampening tinctures. At least until Reginnvaldr.</p><p>⁂</p><p>    Gavin could barely recall the rest of the voyage back to Ribe. He drifted in and out of consciousness, memories of uncomfortably huddling against the rowing bench melded with a profound feeling of sickness. It could have been days or it could have been hours by the time the boat was beached back at Ribe.</p><p>    “Help me get him out of here,” Jerbjorn said, insistently pulling Gavin, who refused to budge from his position, huddled against the bench. It was far from perfect all squashed against the wood, but it was leagues better than standing upright and trudging through the still half-destroyed town. Even the thought of it sent a fresh wave of cramps through Gavin’s body.</p><p>    “Fuck no,” that was Michael. “He freaked out last time I tried to touch him, get another omega to help you.”</p><p>    “He’s going to freak out if <em>anyone</em> touches him right now. At least you’re his friend and you’re mated.”</p><p>     Gavin felt himself get jostled around and whined at the uncomfortable shocks it sent through him. It felt like every inch of bare skin that met Michael or Jerbjorn’s hands was poked through with hundreds of needles. “Don’t,” he huffed, but was ignored.</p><p>    His head spun fiercely as the lads lifted him out of the boat and carried him between them, suspended on their shoulders. His legs dangled uselessly, dragging on the beach and filling his shoes with sand.</p><p>    “Can’t you just throw him over your shoulder and carry him to the heat gate?” Michael complained after a few paces.</p><p>    “I don’t really fancy getting puke down my back, but feel free to throw him on your shoulder if you’re that eager.” Gavin had to agree, the mere thought of being carried over someone’s shoulder made him stomach turn and sent him gagging. </p><p>    Though half out of his mind, Gavin was at least conscious enough to be thankful that Michael and Jerbjorn drag-carried him around Ribe, instead of straight through. He didn’t much fancy navigating the other farms and half burned households in his current state.</p><p>    When they stopped, Gavin rolled his heavy head enough to see where they had taken him. It was a decent sized house, with a stone walls, lined with strong-smelling pine branches. A decent sized archway stood before the house, stones carved and painted with those strange northern runes Gavin had seen once or twice. He couldn’t for the life of him read what it said, but could see a little side portrait of a woman painted into one of the lower stones. </p><p>    “Gav, can you hear me?” Jerbjorn asked, unwinding Gavin’s arm from his shoulder and moving Gavin’s head to look him in the eye.</p><p>    “Ye,” Gavin replied, voice almost slurred with the effort it took to speak.</p><p>    “When was the last time you had a heat?” Gavin knew this was an important question, else Jerbjorn wouldn’t look so serious at it, but he couldn’t for the life of him make his brain work any harder.</p><p>    “Have a heat….” </p><p>    “You’ve had a heat before right?” Jerbjorn asked, voice clipped with stress. “When was your last heat?” </p><p>    “Last heat…”</p><p>    Jerbjorn groaned in frustration, and wound Gavin’s arm back around his shoulder. They dragged Gavin into the house, which was much smaller on the inside, and lit only by the open door. They sat Gavin on a sturdy cot, sweet-smelling hay stuffed into linen pillows and more pine lining the cot like a mattress. It was very strong smelling, that bed, but it didn’t smell like anything other than the wild, and it was a relief to have Jerbjorn’s sickly sweet scent, and Michael’s too-strong spice scent overpowered with something else.</p><p>    He curled in on himself, letting his body respond to the renewed wave of cramps wracking his body. Jerbjorn said something else to Michael, but Gavin didn’t pay it any mind. The pain was growing and Gavin longed for a reprieve from the tearing sensation in his lower stomach.</p><p>    “Fuck, I wish Jakaupr was here,” Jerbjorn said under his breath. He turned to Gavin and softened his voice though it was still a great deal terser than he might have intended. “Michael’s going to get us some supplies, okay Gav? Now I need you to focus. When was your last heat?”</p><p>    “Never ‘ad one,” Gavin slurred. </p><p>    “You’ve never had a heat before? What about when you presented?”</p><p>    “Had that one, ’s all.”</p><p>    “Fuck!” Jerbjorn groaned. His irritation made Gavin giggle before a new wave of cramps had him crying out. At Gavin’s cry, Jerbjorn reached out and started rubbing his back. “I’m sorry that I have to be the one to tell you this, but this isn't going to be fun buddy. But no matter how bad it gets, I promise you, you’re going to make it through this.”    </p><p>    Gavin grunted his acknowledgment, but really he only took in about half of the words. The stone hut was growing stiflingly warm and he could feel the sweat drip down his back and soak into his tunic. He hoped it didn't cover Jerbjorn’s hand.</p><p>    When Michael returned to the stone house, it was with Geoff in tow and arms laden with bundles of food and cloth. Having both alphas in the small space made his nose wrinkle and his stomach turn, but the back rubbing helped soothe him a great deal. </p><p>    “Hey Gavvy, not feeling so hot huh?” Geoff asked, adopting the same tone he used with Athie. Gavin huffed.</p><p>    “‘M not a child Geoffers,” he mumbled. </p><p>    “Course you aren’t, you’re a big strong omega aren’t you?” His tone was teasing, but Gavin couldn’t bring himself to look at his expression, the cramps were still present and something in Gavin rebelled at the thought of making eye contact with anyone—let alone an alpha—at the moment. </p><p>    “Reginnvaldr sent word,” Geoff continued. “One of the faster scouts came back with news for us all and of course Val sent something special for you.” At the mention of his mate's name, Gavin forced his head upwards, heedless of the spins he gave himself and stared hard at Geoff’s chin.</p><p>    “W’ted he say?”</p><p>    “Don’t worry about that now, we have all the time in the world to talk about it once your heat ends. What’s more important is that he sent you some scent-marked gifts.”</p><p>    That was a lot of words Gavin wasn’t entirely capable of processing at the moment, so he just hummed instead and let Geoff set the bundle of trinkets at his feet. He unwrapped the linen cloth and was immediately bombarded by the scent of <em>mate</em>.</p><p>    His mind went blank, all he could think of was his absent mate. Sweet woodsmoke filled his nostrils and seemed to travel down his spine, sending little jolts of warmth through his entire body. Gavin reached clumsily for the cloth and jerked it up to his nose, uncaring of the trinkets that tumbled out of it and clattered to the floor.</p><p>    He shoved the linen to his face and inhaled deeply. <em>Gods</em>, it was divine. If Gavin closed his eyes and imagined hard enough, it was almost like Reginnvaldr was actually <em>here</em>. The cramps quickly faded, replaced with a different kind of tingling in his lower stomach. </p><p>    “Go ahead and take a nap, Gavin,” Jerbjorn said, easing Gavin down until he laid on the cot. “You’re going to feel even worse when you wake up, but hopefully the scent-marked stuff will help.”</p><p>    Gavin didn’t particularly care what Jerbjorn’s reasons were for having him take nap, but he found himself agreeing with the suggestion. He was hit with a wave of exhaustion and comfort upon having Reginnvaldr's scent surround him. Without a word more, Gavin wrapped the cloth around his neck and closed his eyes.</p><p>    However bad Gavin had thought the cramps and fever were before, when he awoke, drenched in sweat and stinking up the hut with his heat-scent so badly it made his own nose wrinkle and his own eyes water, he distantly recognized that how he felt now was much, much worse.</p><p>    He turned his bleary gaze to the small table and chair, where Jerbjorn sat weaving some sort of metal cord around a smoothed bone. The wrapped cord he’d already made was impressive, an interwoven metal chain swinging gently as he maneuvered the bone.</p><p>    “Jer—” Gavin said before his voice cut out. He coughed once to no avail. </p><p>    “Hey buddy, how you feeling?” Jerbjorn placed the metal and bone on the table and approached Gavin with a cup. “Go ahead and drink this for me, pal.”</p><p>    Gavin did, and the cool sweetness of the water revitalized him enough that he could sit up. He took another sip of the water before speaking again. “What’re you doin’ ‘ere?”</p><p>    Jerbjorn scoffed in teasing disbelief. “You didn’t think I’d just leave you to suffer your first real heat alone did you?” That wasn’t what Gavin expected to hear and it made him uncomfortable to hear. He’d heard stories, back when he was a child, of why exactly omega girls were sent to nunneries during their heats. But Jerbjorn was an omega, Gavin reminded himself. And moreover, he was safe here, he was at his home with his clan.</p><p>    “What exactly are you here <em>for</em> though?”</p><p>    “Make sure you drink enough water, try and get some food in you, and provide some hugs if you get hungry for touch,” Jerbjorn said, taking the now empty cup from Gavin’s hands and replacing it on the table. He rolled his shoulders and stretched. “Which reminds me, it’s nearly suppertime. You hungry at all?”</p><p>    He was hungry, but his stomach vehemently protested at the thought of eating. He shook his head.</p><p>    Jerbjorn sighed. He reached into a heavy looking sack and pulled out a disk of Lindsay’s unleavened bread. “Can you eat like, two bites for me Gav? Just two bites.” </p><p>    Lindsay’s bread was good, and Gavin was hungry enough to at least attempt it. Hopefully without any butter or cheese, it would be light enough to placate his roiling stomach. He nodded and held his hand out for the bread. The piece Jerbjorn tore off for him was certainly bigger than two bites, but Gavin didn’t comment on it and obediently gnawed on the flatbread.</p><p>    The flavor and texture erupted in Gavin’s mouth, more intense than anything he’d eaten before. He could taste the smoke from the fir wood chips used to fire the oven, he could feel the germ of the flour coat his mouth. The taste and smell of the flatbread utterly invaded his senses and encompassed him so entirely that he thought he might be floating away, no longer tethered to the earth.</p><p>    A steady, calloused hand rubbed his forearm, the roughness catching on his arm-hair. The sensation helped to dull the overwhelming taste flooding his mouth and with a shuddering gasp, Gavin returned to his body. “What the bloody fuck?!”</p><p>    “Shh, you’re okay buddy,” Jerbjorn said, patting his arm a few times before pulling away. “It happens sometimes, your senses go haywire looking for an alpha.” Gavin wrinkled his nose at that. He didn’t want an alpha, he wanted <em>his</em> alpha. The thought made him blush, hopefully it’d be attributed to the heat. He did not want to explain to Jerbjorn what thoughts had prompted the blush.</p><p>    Luck seemed to be on his side, because Jerbjorn paid no mind to Gavin’s blush and instead went to refill the cup from an overlarge waterskin. Gavin wrinkled his nose at the sheepskin scent that clung to the skin. Anything that was agitated or moved released a wave of scent and assaulted Gavin’s nostrils. It was giving him a headache.</p><p>    Gavin drank his second cup of water quickly and half-heartedly gnawed at the bits of bread Jerbjorn shoved at him. It was easier to focus on chewing and swallowing the bread when Jerbjorn put a hand on his arm. The simple touch anchored him, helping him to move through the overwhelming pungent taste and smell instead of getting lost in it.</p><p>⁂</p><p>     Days passed in the little hut. At one point, Gavin turned his head enough to catch the rapidly dulling scentmark Reginnvaldr had left on the cloth sack of treasures and he’d lost hours scenting the cloth and rutting uselessly against the unforgiving straw bedding. He was so out of his mind that he didn’t have it in himself to be embarrassed that Jerbjorn was still present. When Gavin felt himself grow slick at Reginnvaldr’s old scent, Jerbjorn coughed and rattled the sack of supplies until he pulled a small jar of strong smelling balm out and applied it liberally to under his nose. </p><p>    “Hope you know I’m going to tease the shit out of you for being a predictable lovestruck omega once you’re out of this, Gav,” Jerbjorn grumbled, applying more of the sharp smelling balm to his nose. </p><p>    His heat passed in waves of consciousness and blurriness. One moment, he’d be eating whatever bland food Jerbjorn gave him, the next he’d be waking up in a half-made nest, hugging Jerbjorn like a child hugging a toy. For his part, the other omega waved off Gavin’s stuttered, half-cognizant apologies. </p><p>    “’S part of having a heat,” he said tiredly. “You don’t have an alpha—at least not one here—and I’m the omega closest to you, so of course I’m going to help you out. I’m probably a poor replacement for Jack though, aren’t I?” That had assuaged some of his guilt, though Gavin vowed to find some way to thank Jerbjorn properly once his heat had ended. </p><p>    Worse than the bouts of unconsciousness was the heat ache. The first time it struck Gavin, halfway through his second day, he thought he was dying. A sharp, ever-present pain throbbed in his stomach like a knife wound. He was so empty, so alone, and so cold. The scentmarked cloth had lost nearly all of Reginnvaldr’s scent, and the little bit that remained was so faint it only made Gavin remember how far away his alpha was. </p><p>    Gavin felt hollow inside, like someone had snatched up his heart and lungs with some foul magic while he’d dozed. Jerbjorn’s attempts at comforting touches helped warm him a bit, but did little to help alleviate the barren burn inside. Jerbjorn assured him he wasn’t dying, that this was normal, that he’d survive like the countless omegas before him, but it was hard to believe. The empty pain was so great he couldn’t catch his breath and he panted for air that would’t fill his lungs.</p><p>    But Jerbjorn was right, he did survive. It felt like a miracle when Gavin took a breath and could breathe. The two days that he was consumed by heat ache felt more like two years, and Gavin pictured himself old and greyed once he reached the end of it.</p><p>    Eventually, he was conscious more than he wasn’t and the taste of bread and lettuce didn’t have him lost in the complexities of their flavors. His temperature dropped until sweat no longer continuously poured from his body. Jerbjorn’s comforting hand became just that, a comfort, instead of a lifeline back to earth.</p><p>    On the fifth day, Gavin awoke to the sound of the rooster crowing and a clarity he hadn’t realized he’d lost. He stretched and stood from the bed on wobbly legs. Jerbjorn woke only seconds later and fixed Gavin with a tired smile from the chair he’d been sleeping in.</p><p>    “How you feeling buddy?”</p><p>    “Like I died and got shit out by the Fenris-wolf,” Gavin croaked in reply, huffing out a laugh when Jerbjorn cackled. He grabbed the waterskin from the table and drank straight from it. Gone was the crisp sweetness that graced his tongue during heat. This water just tasted like… well, water. “You stayed the entire time?”</p><p>    “Yep,” Jerbjorn said, popping the ‘p.’ “Made sure you didn’t go streaking naked through the fields and everything.” Jerbjorn laughed at the grimace Gavin gave and stood from wooden chair. “God you stink though. I think I damn near ran out of the scent balm trying to keep from gagging.”</p><p>    Gavin half-heartedly shoved at Jerbjorn, too tired and weak to put much effort into it. The light punch he received in return was leagues softer too. “Sorry for stinking up the place.”</p><p>    Jerbjorn waved him off. “It’s part of being an omega. Or an alpha, now that I think of it, but they usually wait out their ruts alone in the woods. Naked weirdos covered in dirt with leaves in their hair.”</p><p>    The image of Reginnvaldr, exposed to the world and near-feral in rut had Gavin blinking to clear his mind of it. That was definitely a thought, but one for later. When Jerbjorn wasn’t here and Gavin had eaten. And once everyone else had gone to bed.</p><p>    Jerbjorn led Gavin to the bathhouse, tugging him along, even when he tripped over every rock in existence with wobbly legs and whined about the brightness of the sun. The bathhouse was blessedly empty, and though Jerbjorn kept splashing Gavin with water and mentioning how awful he smelled, he also helped rinse his hair and brought him a fresh set of clothes. </p><p>    When Gavin went to stand from the hot spring, he nearly fell over, and it was only Jerbjorn’s quick reflexes that caught him. </p><p>    “That’ll happen,” Jerbjorn was quick to reassure. He helped Gavin stumble along like a newborn foal back to the tents outside the half-reconstructed hall.</p><p>    The sun lingered low in the sky and various little fires popped up one by one throughout Ribe. The scent of tallow and campfire filled the air, a comforting dullness to the scent that Gavin had never appreciated before going through a heat. Jerbjorn dragged him to his usual spot and forced him to sit down on the log bench. “No moving until you eat something,” he said. </p><p>    Jerbjorn didn’t have anything to worry about. Gavin was so tired he could feel his eyelids drooping and twitching while attempting to stay open. He didn’t think he could move if he tried. It wasn’t long before he was joined by a smiling Geoff carrying two bowls of absolutely heavenly smelling stew.</p><p>    “Geoffers, I’d sack Rome for you, swear it,” Gavin said, only half incoherently, taking his bowl and digging in. He snorted and sat beside him, his own stew quickly being attacked by a spoon. </p><p>    “That bad huh?” he teased. Gavin nodded in reply, too preoccupied with the venison and onion in his mouth to care much for speaking. “You doing okay buddy? Jer didn’t say too much.”</p><p>    Gavin considered the question. He was physically exhausted from heat. Emotionally exhausted from the raid. He still hadn’t come to grips with what they’d done at the monastery. Shoving his feelings aside to do what had to be done, only for his heat to waylay everything hadn’t been the best for his mind. </p><p>    “I’m tired,” he finally said. “And Geoff… When I did the checking, back at the monastery, there was a man in one of the rooms.” Gavin could recall the terrified monk in a confusing mess of sharpness and hazy disarray. Like his own brain couldn’t decide how it wanted to recall the dying man.</p><p>    “Fuck, Gav,” Geoff whispered. Gavin glanced to him and saw worry painted across his face. He turned back to his stew bowl and carefully tilted the bowl and the dregs of stew into his mouth. He didn’t know why, but seeing Geoff’s concern was worse than if he had reacted as if Gavin killing a man was normal. Maybe it would have felt bad no matter his reaction. </p><p>    “He… he had a wound in his side,” Gavin said, voice thick. One of his friends would have been the cause of that, if not directly, then by starting the fire. It was a gruesome thought. He cleared his throat. “He would have died by the fire if I hadn’t… If I hadn’t killed him.” </p><p>    Geoff wrapped his arm around Gavin and squeezed him tightly. “I’m so sorry, Gavin,” he said. “We didn’t want you to have to deal with that, not yet at least.”</p><p>    “We did it because we had to,” Gavin mused quietly, voice somewhat muffled from where his face was squished against Geoff’s arm. “But we still killed people. Even if we needed the food, what makes us any more deserving than them?”</p><p>    A hefty sigh was his reply. Gavin snuck a peek at Geoff to see the man with a solemn expression, stew abandoned in favor of fiddling with his necklace. “I don’t have an easy answer for you Gav,” he said at last. “There are men who work, there are men who pray, and there are men who fight, and sometimes we change from one to another. That’s natural, it’s how the world works. It’s no cause for grief. You’re okay.”</p><p>    If anything that made Gavin feel worse. He felt tears at the edges of his eyes, threatening to fall like the foam from an overfilled ale. He sniffed and curled in on himself. The stew sat heavily in his stomach.</p><p>    The silence stretched until it filled the air, thick and heavy, made all the more apparent by the distant sounds of laughter and talking from other campfires. Men who worked, men who prayed and men who fought. Bleak options filled with bleak lives.</p><p>    “Brought you some mead Gav,” came Jerbjorn’s cheerful voice. He shoved the drink into Gavin’s hands and handed Geoff a different cup filled with tea leaves. He settled on Gavin’s other side, close enough that Gavin could feel his warmth. </p><p>    “Thought you’d be sick of me after watching me all week,” Gavin said wryly. “Thanks Lil’ J.”</p><p>    “Don’t mention it.”</p><p>    “Gonna have to give you a nickname now,” Gavin teased. He felt thin with exhaustion and with Geoff’s words, but he meant it. “My little Jerrybjorn.”</p><p>    “Please no,” was the deadpan response. Geoff huffed a laugh and jostled Gavin. </p><p>    “Jerjer? Little Jerjer the Jerembjorn Jeremey?” Somehow all of those made Jerbjorn’s face even more emotionless and Gavin gave an exaggerated pout at the look.</p><p>    “That’s enough outta you.”</p><p>    “Fine, I’ll stop…<em>Jeremy</em>,” Gavin teased. He took a gulp of mead and relished in the tingly feeling beginning to fill his body. </p><p>    “I hate you,” Jeremy said with a smile that insisted he meant nothing of the sort. He tapped his cup against Gavin’s and took another long drink. Quickly, the pair drained the alcohol and Gavin was left feeling lightheaded. He hadn’t eaten enough in the past few days.</p><p>    “Here let me get that for you,” Jeremy said, grabbing Gavin’s cup and unhooking a water-skin from his belt. Mead poured from the spout and filled the cup which Jeremy promptly returned to Gavin with the instruction to drink.</p><p>    “Y’keepin’ bevs in your water-skin?” Gavin asked incredulously. “Wot’ if you’re thirsty?” </p><p>    “Then I keep drinking until I forget I’m thirsty to begin with,” Jeremy said back, sounding almost sober, albeit entirely too loud. “Drink!”</p><p>    And so they continued until Gavin felt like the world was spinning around him and the sun had fully set, the fires cackling merrily and casting everything in a shadowy glow.  He felt both vulnerable, fragile and delicate, and strong. Brash, vulgar. He leaned his head on Geoff’s shoulder, humming contentedly at the gentle hair pets he received in return. </p><p>    “Men who pray, ‘en who fight, n’ men who die, right Geoffers?” he slurred. His voice sounded funnier than his mind felt. He was almost perfectly in his own right mind. Mostly. Or something. “I was set ta’ be a man who prayed y’know? ‘Fore all this shite happened,” Gavin paused for a second, thinking. “‘Cept I don’ think I was any good at it. Bollocks at the reading part.”</p><p>    “You can read?” Jeremy shouted back at him, much, much too loudly for the hour. “Doesn’t your nose get in the way when you look down at the book?!” Geoff’s hand stilled at the words and he mumbled something about reading Gavin a runestick when he was in his right mind. Gavin took offense to that.</p><p>    “I take offense to that Geoffrey!” Gavin squawked. “I’m perfectly in my rightest right mind at this very mo-<em>hic!</em>-moment.” The haughty expression lasted for a good two seconds before he and Jeremy devolved into uncontrollable giggles.</p><p>    “Let’s get you to bed, okay Gav?” Geoff said firmly, tugging him to his feet. He looked around for a moment before spotting a tall, gangly man in the distance. “Mats, your omega needs you.” </p><p>    The gangly man, Mats by the sounds of it—though Gavin thought that name was rather stupid and resolved to call the man Matt when he was sober—huffed a long-suffering sigh and tugged a still laughing Jeremy away. They were a cute, if oddly matched, pair Gavin thought. He would have to talk to the alpha later on. It was a right shame he’d never interacted with his friend’s mate before. Or, perhaps just his courting partner. The two didn’t smell mated.</p><p>    Gavin was ushered into his usual tent, unceremoniously pushed to the bedroll, and held down until he stopped squirming and trying to wrestle Geoff. It only took a few moments until he grew tired and contented himself with patting Geoff’s arm absentmindedly. “Didn’t want to be a pray-er, prayin’-er, pray— a man who prayed,” he said sleepily. Geoff sighed and ruffled Gavin’s hair. </p><p>    “I know bud.”</p><p>    “No, Geoff! I’m serious, I didn’t wan’ to. I don’ want to be a man who kills either though.”</p><p>    A few beats of silence passed where an uncomfortable Geoff snuggled with what to say in reply. Gavin didn’t notice the awkwardness, too wrapped up in his own tangled mind, pulling on the strings and praying the alcohol didn’t unravel them further. </p><p>    “I don’ want to be any of those things Geoff,” Gavin said. “I want to be… I want to be a man who lives. I want to be happy.”</p><p>    “I want you to too, Gav.”</p><p>    “But now I can’t be that,” Gavin lamented, tears feeling heavy in his eyes. “’m a man who kills now. I don’t want that.” He sniffled and felt tears spill down his cheeks in a hot mess.</p><p>    “Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Geoff said. The stilted discomfort from before was replaced by the same kindness a father offered their frightened pup. It was easier in the dark, Gavin mused distantly, mind still clouded with alcohol, to show each other our hidden depths. The dark a soft blanket to cover the fear that came from spilling your truths. “You’re not anything except for Gavin Free, best <em>yfir-fœða </em>this side of Constantinople. You don’t have to be a man who works, or prays, or fights, or kills. You can just be yourself.” </p><p>    A pause. And then, Geoff’s words sounded watery and strained, like he too was crying. “You are just yourself, Gav, and we all fucking love you so much. No matter what you do, you’re our family. And we’ll be here to help you through the working and the praying, and even the fighting and the killing.”</p><p>    “T’anks Geoff.”</p><p>⁂</p><p>    The morning brought a headache the size of the Vatican and a stomach that protested so hard it made Gavin groan. He blinked blearily at the dappled light that drifted through the canvas of his tent and focused on trying not to throw up. Why was the world spinning, he was lying down for fuck’s sake!</p><p>    After entirely too long, long enough that the canvas had heated to uncomfortable levels, Gavin managed to stagger upright and out of the tent, furs and blankets messily bunched behind him. He was greeted to a crackling fire and Jeremy gleefully stuffing his face with unleavened bread and duck fat. </p><p>    “Hey Gavvy, how’re you feeling?” Jeremy asked cheerfully. At Gavin’s groan he laughed, bits of bread falling from his mouth. </p><p>    “Jeremy, if you keep on that, I’m going to vom, and it’s going to be on you.” Jeremy magnanimously closed his mouth but smirked, eyes glittering in mirth.  After a few beats, where Jeremy finished his bread and Gavin tried his hardest not to vomit at the sound and scent of duck fat being eaten, Jeremy lightly shoved Gavin. </p><p>    “Let’s get you an ale and then go meet Geoff. He’s been dying to read you the Runestick your alpha sent.” </p><p>    Gavin hummed noncommittally, more preoccupied with burying his head in his hands than whatever Jeremy was spouting. The darkness his hands provided was a welcome relief to the absolutely colossal pounding in his skull, but it was all too soon Jeremy was nudging him and handing him a cup of beer.</p><p>    “If I drink this I’m going to die,” Gavin said solemnly, not deterred by the chuckle he received. “I’m not joking, my stomach is going to fall out my mouth and my head will roll off completely.”</p><p>    “Stop being a baby and drink it. It’ll help you feel better, the alcohol takes you up again so the come down isn’t as bad.” Well, Gavin supposed it couldn’t be any worse than he already felt. He took a swig of the ale and forced himself to swallow against the fresh wave of nausea that rose in response. </p><p>    And so, sipping the beer, Gavin followed Jeremy to Geoff’s farm plot. The man in question was fussing over a chicken, muttering obscenities under his breath and generally being incoherent. It took Jeremy clapping him on the back before he realized they were there.</p><p>    “Fuck, you scared the shit out of me. What do you want?” He grouched.</p><p>    “Chickens going poorly or something, Geoff?” Gavin asked, scanning the assorted chickens. They looked fine to him, save the few oddly colored ones Geoff favored, but then he didn’t particularly know much about chicken husbandry.     </p><p>    “The ones I want to fuck, in a very particular arrangement, are not doing that,” his tone turned world-weary and Gavin had to hide a smile behind his cup of ale. “It’s fine, it’s okay, eventually they’ll fuck in the configuration I need them to. What did you need?”</p><p>    “Er…” Gavin turned to Jeremy.     </p><p>    “We’re here for that runestick, the one Reginnvaldr sent,” Jeremy said. Geoff nodded and smiled warmly at Gavin. The chickens were left to their own devices, to fuck in their own configurations, while Geoff led them back to the tents. His own, shared with Michael, was closest to the nearly-complete great hall and Gavin took a moment to observe the structure. It was incredible how quickly the clan had restored the scorched building. It lacked the intricate carvings and banded door, but for how brutally they’d been sacked, the speed at which they’d recovered was miraculous. It wouldn’t take much longer than a week before they could move back into the hall, and only a few more to fully restore the houses in Ribe proper.</p><p>    “Here we go,” Geoff said, pulling a burlap sack out of his tent. “There are some other things in here too that you ignored while stinking up the heat hut that you might like.” He plucked a bundle of sticks from the sack, all of which were no thicker than Gavin’s palm and no longer than his forearm. Geoff unbound the sticks and tossed the binding strip—which Gavin suspected was made from some kind of gut—to the floor. The first stick was flat, the rounded surface shaped into a half-flat canvas with strange symbols carved into its surface. Gavin squinted at the jagged lines, but he couldn’t remember ever seeing them before.</p><p>    “Ah, this one says Jakaupr and Reginnvaldr carved the runes,” Geoff said, thumbing over the symbols thoughtfully. “Couple of saps. Reginnvaldr especially, taking all that time to carve runes for his little Gavvy instead of doing whatever it is kings do.” </p><p>    “It says that?” Gavin asked curiously. He leaned closer to Geoff, looking at the stick. Some of the symbols looked a bit like the Latin ‘R,’ but most of them looked like accidental scratches on the wood. Geoff nodded and pointed to a string of symbols starting with the R character, naming the letter as he pointed. “R-I-K-I-N-F-A-L-T-R. It’s easier to carve into the wood with a knife than your Latin, that’s for sure.”</p><p>    “His name sounds softer than those letters when you speak it,” Gavin mused, only half paying attention. He was more preoccupied with tracing his fingers over the carvings, headache and upset stomach all but forgotten.</p><p>    “Next one is an update on how they’re doing,” Geoff continued, peering at the largest of the sicks. “Moving. Battle won. No dead.” That was good news, though the thought of his alpha alone, fighting off gods know where sent shocks of anxiety down Gavin’s arms. “This one says: Raid. No dead. Moving.” </p><p>    And so went the sticks. Little bits of half sentences offering the smallest peek into the lives of the warriors pursing Eyesteinn. Reassurances that they were alive, that they were surviving and continuing their deadly pursuit. Little skirmishes that didn’t seem to really effect either side, all painstakingly carved into the little bundle of wood. Quickly they were down to two sticks, Geoff read the first and smiled softly, tucking it into his belt, separate from the others. </p><p>    “From Jack,” he said. “For Michael and I.” Gavin nodded and didn’t press. He was missing his alpha before they’d even mated. He couldn’t imagine the strain it was having on Michael and Jack, especially with their child here in Ribe and their omega off chasing danger. A little privacy for their runestick was well deserved.</p><p>    The last stick Geoff paused at and spent a long moment reading the carvings. It was stained with something blue, flowers or insects perhaps, and Gavin’s heart fluttered at the symbols. This had to be from Reginnvaldr. Geoff snorted.</p><p>    “It’s very private,” he warned. Jeremy laughed and clapped Gavin on the back. </p><p>    “I’ll go tell the others what the news is,” he said, and left Gavin alone.</p><p>    Geoff held the stick out to Gavin and pointed to the first set of runes, divided from the others by a little dot of burned wood. </p><p>
  
</p><p>    “I… It’s runes, but it’s still a poem,” Geoff said. Gavin smiled even as he felt pinpricks of moisture threaten the corners of his eyes. His alpha, a romantic and a poet, even hundreds of miles away. Geoff cleared his throat.</p><p>    “<em>Remember me, </em></p><p>
  <em>    for I remember you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>    Love me, </em>
</p><p><em>    For I love you.</em>”</p><p>    Gavin reached out and took hold of the stick himself, trailing his fingers in wonder over the carvings. Beautiful words adorning wood that had intentionally been dressed up, carved carefully, shaved finely to protect trailing fingers against splinters. For just a moment, Gavin closed his eyes and imagined that he could smell sweet woodsmoke, could see Reginnvaldr hunched over the stick, carefully whittling away the excess material and composing poetry for his distant love. </p><p>    Gavin smiled and, like Geoff, tucked the runestick into his belt, to be further appreciated later. “Thank you Geoff.”</p><p>    “Don’t mention it,” Geoff said. He squeezed Gavin’s forearm. His eyes turned serious. “How are you feeling?” By his tone, Gavin knew he was talking about their conversation the night before.</p><p>    “Better,” he said. He hadn’t the time— nor sobriety— to fully analyze Geoff’s words, but at a brief thought, it was true. He did feel better. “Suppose Christian morality doesn’t really apply up here does it?”</p><p>    Geoff hummed and fiddled with the runesticks, bundling them up again with the gut tie. “Anglians and southerners kill too, regardless of what god they pray to when they trip over the chamberpot at night.”</p><p>    Gavin supposed that was true, but it didn’t really change what he’d done or how it felt. It felt awful. It felt like he was betraying something deep and rooted. “He spoke my language you know,” he said, thumbing the runestick absentmindedly in some attempt at comfort. “The monk I killed. He was babbling prayers to himself when I came in. First time I’ve heard my own tongue from my old home since I came here.”</p><p>    There was nothing to say to that, so Gavin was unsurprised when Geoff said nothing, only hugging Gavin close and squeezing. Though he didn’t speak, Gavin could tell what he was saying. I love you. I’m sorry. It’s okay. You’re okay. </p><p>    And it was. It would be, if nothing else. Time would pass and nightmares would dim, and the feeling of a wooden practice sword in his hands would no longer seem like such an ordeal. And if he cared to remember the gods of the north, the Æsir and the Vanir and their predilections for violence and raw humanity, Gavin could remember that sacrificing the love of one southern god would not rob him of a place in Fólkvangr or Oðinn’s great hall.</p><p>    And what’s more, Gavin decided, he was selfish. He was selfish and cruel, and though it made his heart clench and his stomach turn to think so, he would not surrender the life he grew in Ribe for the life of a dying monk. Despite everything, despite being whisked away from Castle Bamburgh and carving a niche in the north, despite burning halls and dying comrades, a distant alpha and a dying monk, Gavin was happy. And he decided that he would kill for that happiness. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fun historical shenanigans (even in a heat chapter!):</p><p>1) The 'heat house' is based off the Orkeny Hall dig, which you can read about <a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-scotland-north-east-orkney-shetland-49250718">here.</a> Being a budding historian, I always find archeological digs of both the utmost fascination the the most insurmountable befuddlement. In the wise words of my favorite professor: "Archeologists are brilliant, I love them, but would it kill them to say <em>why</em> it matters?"</p><p>2) The "woman painted into one of the lower stones" of the heat house is based off the Freyja amulet from the Danish National Museum. The depictions of Freyja vs Frigg is something that's always fascinated me (and the thing most tempting about archeology as a field for me,) so I decided to put some of that here. </p><p>3) Val's runic poem to Gavin is based on a <a href="https://www.vikingrune.com/2008/12/runic-love-quotes/">real poem!</a> Don't get me started on Viking love poetry, I'll go on forever about it. Love poetry was actually illegal in Scandinavia (or at least in Iceland) because it might encourage a woman to fall in love with a man her father did not approve or, or cause her to commit adultery. It was so illegal that a man could receive full outlawry (ie, existing outside the law and in banishment) if he wrote it! More on that by the hunky <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=16nG8Hb_WJA">Dr. Jackson Crawford</a> who I have a huge academic crush on. </p><p>4) Geoff's comment about 'men who work, men who pray, men who fight' is a common phrase in medievalism. It first originated from the British Saxon king, King Alfred’s vernacular translation of Boethius’s <em>Consolation of Philosophy</em> (one of the works Alfred deemed necessary for all men to know.) After Alfred's translation, many future scholars used variations of the same phrase to describe the medieval world!</p><p>We'll be back again next week! Much love to you all!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello all! I'm updating early this week because I'll be in the mountains this weekend and thus out of service range. We owe a lot to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a> this week because <em>goodness</em> was this chapter full of bad sentences and flowery nonsense. Noel, my darling, we are forever grateful to you &lt;3</p><p>Alas, it's a bit early for Jól (the winter solstice) but hopefully you can enjoy this chapter nonetheless!</p><p>(Edited to add: CW for some teeth falling out action. It occurs briefly during the lads' opening snowball fight.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 15</p><p>     In the months that followed, the great hall was rebuilt and Ribe was seeing the first snow of the season dust the ground and cling to the rooftops. Autumn was a brief affair and before Gavin could blink, the world around him browning and dying swiftly before conceding to winter’s harsh grip. </p><p>    But at least, Gavin mused, they had the great hall. In fact, a great deal of the damage Eyesteinn inflicted upon their clan had been repaired. Scorched wood still stood next to freshly cut planks if you knew where to look, but no one slept in thin canvas tents outside while the snow lazily piled around them. His heart ached for Reginnvaldr and Jack and Meg and all the others out on their personal crusade to kill Eyesteinn. </p><p>    Two more sacks of gifts and runesticks arrived before the snow had lost its charm. The first was filled with silver <em>dirhams</em> and little bags of sugar and other spices that had Gavin wide eyed and reverent. He spent an afternoon smelling the little bags before giving the precious spices to Lindsay for safe keeping. He was nowhere near talented enough to incorporate the ginger and peppers into even the simplest of meals, but he bet Lindsay would be able to make something spectacular. The sugar he saved, keeping it in the chest with the broken lock that lived in the reconstructed chambers he used to share with Reginnvaldr. It was a selfish secret, but one Gavin indulged in with the private stipulation that he would take it to Stefi if anyone ever grew ill enough to need it. </p><p>    The runesticks in that gift were just as short and sparse as the first bundle. From what Gavin could gather, based off Geoff’s translations, Reginnvaldr and the others had at least briefly chased Eyesteinn south, towards the Mediterranean. Whether they were overwintering in that lush tropic wasn’t clear, but every time the wind blew hard and chilled Gavin through layers of fur and wool, he hoped Reginnvaldr fared warmer. </p><p>    The second sack of gifts was filled with rich silver bowls and cups lined with gold and decorated with carvings of animals. Each bowl was filled with silver coins that Gavin could vaguely place as Frankish, overflowing to the point that spilled coins were found in the bottom of the sack. Each cup contained spools of multicolored silk thread, the quality so fine that the thread didn’t catch on Gavin’s calloused fingers, gliding over  the rough skin effortlessly. </p><p>    Even as the wind grew colder and the snow more insistent, there was always a cup of hot cider and a pickled vegetable, a salted meat, to keep them warm and fed at night. It was hard to regret the raid when it kept them full. Gavin still made sure to spare a thought for the dead with each meal, just after he prayed for Reginnvaldr’s safe return. Longing filled his days, making its home along his chores and fancies. </p><p>    Just once, Gavin sent a sack of gifts back with Reginnvaldr’s messenger. It wasn’t anything grand—they were too far and too mobile for rich silver and fine cloths—but Gavin hoped the pieces of hard honeyed bread and dried fruits made for a better meal. He’d carved a runestick too. Geoff had teased Gavin while translating the words into runes, but he’d done so and Gavin had spent an afternoon carving the symbols into a soft piece of redwood, battling the wood and ending up with cuts littering his hands. He’d done it though, and even went through the trouble of staining the wood with left over juice from that evening’s beets. It’d hide the blood he’d got on the wood if nothing else.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>    “My love,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    Return to kiss me.”</em>
</p><p>    The days grew so short that Gavin felt he’d barely awoken before the sun was setting once again, endless night welcoming them in a crushing embrace. Michael had recovered to his full mobility—though he still complained of swelling whenever Geoff was near and was showered in affection as a result—and often sparred with Gavin and Jeremy in the biting winter sunshine. </p><p>    “Fuck!” Michale roared as Jeremy slammed his shield against his head. “You motherfucker!”</p><p>    “Gotta get good!” Jeremy called back, only to fall with a loud ‘Oof!’ when Gavin popped his own shield at him.</p><p>    “Yeah! You get him boy!” Michael hollered. The fondness apparent in his voice did not seem to deter him from attempting to clobber Gavin seconds later. The bruises from the flat of Michael’s sword would likely annoy Gavin for weeks, and Michael was anything but shy about the quantity he dolled out.</p><p>    When they were sore and more covered in bruises than not, Gavin called an end to the practice, waving off Michael’s teasing. “You can stay out here and keep whacking things with your stick, but I’ve got chores to do,” he said.</p><p>    “Oh Michael,” Jeremy said, affecting a breathy, flirtatious tone. “<em>Whack</em> me with your <em>stick</em> again, you <em>strong</em> alpha.” The facade was immediately broken by his whiny laughter and Gavin’s own snort of amusement. Michael, for his part, appeared unimpressed and not the least bit ruffled. </p><p>    “No, if I really wanted someone to whack you off, I’d talk to Mats,” Michael returned, a smirk on his face. The three began lugging their shields and weapons away from the ring. Gavin’s sword and shield would go back to the shack, while Jeremy and Michael took their personal arms back to their quarters. Gavin longed for the day that they had the stability and means to make him his own arms. Mica, being the resident smith, was more preoccupied with making nails for Ribe’s repairs and horseshoes for their workhorses, and Gavin would rather not pester her with frivolity. </p><p>    It was a mistimed step, coupled with a heave of his shield that had Gavin smacking himself in the face with the wood. It hurt quite a bit, but Gavin was more preoccupied with the blood that filled his mouth and the sudden looseness of his teeth.</p><p>    “Oh fuck!” Gavin dropped his shield immediately—narrowly missing his toes—and brought his hand up to poke at his mouth. Jeremy and Michael crowded him immediately, Jeremy fussing over the blood leaking from his mouth and Michael, in his typical gruff way, checking him over for other damage. Both their scents turned bitter and soft in worry and comfort. </p><p>    “Does it hurt anywhere else?” Michael asked, no-nonsense tone at odds with the soothing hands that rubbed Gavin’s back. Gavin shook his head. “Jus’ my mouf.’”</p><p>    Jeremy leaned down a bit to look up into Gavin’s bloody mouth. By the grimace on his face, it wasn’t a pleasant sight. “Yep, that’s a new tooth alright.” He straightened up and ruffled Gavin’s hair just a touch too harshly. “You’re a big boy now little Gavvy Free!”</p><p>    “Gross,” Michael commented. “And you get to loose them again.” Jeremy nodded.</p><p>    “Yep. We lose ours three times. Adolescence, after our first real heat, and when we mate. Sometimes four times if we get knocked up.” He flicked Michael’s ear, ignoring the growl that resulted. “Alpha assholes only lose them twice, when they’re kids and after their first rut. Lucky assholes.”</p><p>    “Eugh’s uckin’ ‘ross,” Gavin tried saying. The blood bubbling in his mouth and his desperate attempts not to swallow it garbled his words beyond recognition. He leaned away from Jeremy’s attempts to swat at him. “Gav, it’ll feel awful unless we pull it out. It’ll be loose for <em>ages</em> and it’ll keep clinging on. Trust me, you want it out sooner rather than later.” </p><p>    Gavin felt perfectly within his right to regard Jeremy with open suspicion. Both the lads were notorious for pranking him—just as often as he did them, to be fair—and Gavin didn’t fancy being permanently down a tooth just for a laugh.</p><p>    “Just let him do it,” Michael said. “I refuse to put my hand in anyone’s fucking mouth unless they’re my kid.” </p><p>    With a grimace, Gavin shut his eyes tight and opened his mouth wide. He could feel Jeremy’s hand, grimy with sweat and dust, reach into his mouth and it set forth a cacophony of gagging. Gods it was disgusting. Gavin tried to tell him so, to beg for another way to get the loose tooth out, but the gagging and Jeremy’s hand muffled his protests.</p><p>     Jeremy gripped his loose tooth painfully tight. Gavin felt a building pressure and a pop, and then—</p><p>    And then his mouth actually felt fine. Gavin opened one eye, and then the other, to the image of a triumphant looking Jeremy, hand bloody, holding a tooth. The sight was repulsive and Gavin gagged again, coughing like he could dispel the sensation of Jeremy’s hand in his mouth and the visual of his own bloody tooth if he coughed hard enough. </p><p>    “Well that was fucking gross,” Michael stated. Michael’s understated observation inspired an eruption of giggles from Jeremy and Gavin couldn’t help but laugh along, despite the occasional gag interrupting him. Gavin spat out the blood and saliva pooling in his mouth, shouldered his shield once again, taking care not to smack himself in the face again, and began the short walk to the practice weapons shack. He ignored Jeremy’s mirth-filled call of “What you’re just going to leave your ugly tooth here with me?! At least take it with you!”</p><p>    ⁂</p><p>    He had just entered the rebuilt great hall when Lindsay pulled him into the remade <em>stofa</em>. It wasn’t nearly as homey as the previous one, what with the old one’s fur-covered benches and racks of spices that filed the air with their smell. But it was getting there. The few spices that had survived the fire, coupled with the few Reginnvaldr sent him and a few that Lindsay had secreted away gods know where, the new <em>stofa</em> was coming along.</p><p>    “Hey Gav,” she said, leading him to a bench and sitting him down. “Jeremy told me he knocked your tooth out during practice.” She stirred a massive bubbling cauldron on the fire once—stirring up the heavenly scent of onion and garlic—before refocusing her attention to him.    </p><p>    “He did not!” Gavin protested. “I, er, smacked myself with my shield. Bollocks, that sounds pretty pathetic, let’s just go with Jeremy hit me.” Lindsay laughed and brought a piece of apple to his mouth. </p><p>    “Go ahead and chew on that for me. It’s gonna hurt, but it’ll help clean your teeth.” Gavin did was his was bade, and though it did hurt, it wasn’t insurmountable by any means, and the sweetness of the apple made any pain worth it. “Now take this spoonful of honey, but don’t swallow it all at once, rub it on your tongue and then touch your teeth with it.” Gavin did so, struggling not to swallow the honey and wincing when his tongue prodded too roughly at the sore gums. He could feel the peak of another tooth in the hole where his old tooth sat, sharper than the original. </p><p>    “Thanks Linds,” he said once the honey had finally melted away. She hummed in reply, more concerned with scooping bits of chicken gristle into the pot. Gavin made a face at the carnage, but considering Lindsay’s culinary talents, he wasn’t going to be complaining out loud any time soon. No matter how repulsive chicken gristle looked. </p><p>    “Any time Gav. Try not to knock any of the others out before they’re ready,” she said. “They’ll get really loose first, and when they’re so loose you can flip them around with your tongue, <em>then</em> you can pull them out. Any sooner and you’re liable to end up with another bloody mouth.” Gavin smiled at the faux-scholarly tone she affected and leaned back against the <em>stofa</em> wall.</p><p>    Lindsay continued speaking, her words stream of consciousness and equally parts delightful and puzzling in their chaotic construction. Mostly, Gavin nodded or hummed at the appropriate times, but protested vehemently when she mused constructing a cake out of mead and pickled fish. “It’d be <em>horrendous</em> Lindsay!” </p><p>    “You just don’t see the art it in! Think about it, fish heads, but we fry them, use the mead as water for the bread, and then we fry the dough! It’d be <em>delicious</em>.” The description of Lindsay’s devil cake had Gavin gagging for the second time that day, though this time was at least half in jest. “I absolutely refuse to try any fish and honey fry cake you create. No one can make that taste good Lindsay, not even you and you’re the best around.”</p><p>    “Aww, you think I’m a good cook,” was the reply. Gavin rolled his eyes at Lindsay’s perpetually sunny and exclusive focus. The conversation rest naturally there, Gavin roped into chopping vegetables while Lindsay kneaded dough. At one point, her apron slipped ever so slightly and Gavin could see pink scar tissue peaking from under her dress’s collar. It ended right where her bright silver necklace began.</p><p>    “How is it,” Gavin asked, gently, cautious of the pain this subject might unveil. “With Meg so far away? I’d ask Michael, but he’s got Geoff here. And he might hit me if I ask.”</p><p>    Lindsay snorted and gave Gavin a melancholy smile with a shrug. She went back to kneading the dough, but her eyes gazed unseeingly, miles away. “It’s hard,” she said. Her hands moved seemingly of their own volition as she maneuvered the kneaded dough to its bowl yet again, taking the next bowl of dough to her floured station. “I had my heat around the same time you and Finna and all them went away. Stefi, the healer omega, helped see me through it. It’s somehow better <em>and</em> worse when you’re already mated.” At a long silence, Lindsay looked up to see Gavin with an inquisitive look. She sighed. </p><p>    “You can’t have a real heat when your mate is away. I could bend over for every alpha in Ribe, but if Meg wasn’t there, there wouldn’t be any babies punching my stomach anytime soon.” </p><p>    Gavin gave her what he considered to be an appropriately disgusted expression in response to that, but Lindsay only laughed. “So you don’t really feel that desperation, that <em>want</em>, you still get slick, and you still feel like you’re running a fever, but you don’t want a cock in your mouth. Or elsewhere.</p><p>    “If anything, it’s a barren heat. Like when you’re first presenting. You just feel sick and achey and awful. And wish your alpha was there to help you through it because then at least they could knot you and you’d get over it.” She set aside the last bowl of kneaded dough and wiped her hands on her apron. “So as soon as Meg gets back home, I’m throwing her on the bed and not letting her up for <em>hours</em>.”</p><p>    That startled a snort out of Gavin and at Lindsay’s lascivious eyebrow waggling, he devolved into outright giggles, shortly joined by Lindsay’ own musical laughter. Once the laughter died down, the two worked in comfortable silence, broken only by an occasional command from Lindsay or a clarifying question from Gavin. Before long, Lindsay declared supper ready save for the time of day, and passed Gavin a mug overfilled with mead. It was a comfortable thing, Gavin mused, to enjoy a warm drink, in a warm kitchen, with a warm friend.</p><p>    “Can I see your collar?” Lindsay asked him suddenly. She had the decency to looked embarrassed at Gavin’s owlish look. “Sorry, it’s just, thinking of alphas and whatnot got me thinking about collars. Out of all the omegas I know, only you have an actual gold collar. Jack’s doesn’t count because it’s only brass.” Gavin blinked but shrugged and pulled the heavy golden necklace out from under his tunic.</p><p>    “Wow,” Lindsay breathed, seemingly entranced by the glittering metal. The little serpent charm swayed merrily. “It’s beautiful.” Gavin flushed, delighted despite himself. He had no action in the creation of the collar, but the compliment made his omegean side swell with pride. His alpha had gifted him with the most stunning collar this side of the world.</p><p>    “Mine’s only silver, but I wouldn’t trade it for all of Charlemagne’s jewels,” Lindsay declared, pulling her own necklace from under her dress. It was a great deal tighter than Gavin’s own collar, but the twinkle in Lindsay’s eyes suggested that was <em>her</em> preference. The silver was expertly braided, tight little strands woven together to be stronger than a team of oxen. At the center of her collar was an elk, its impressive and delicate antlers connected to other parts of the necklace to ensure its stability. </p><p>    “Wow!” Gavin exclaimed, his words in no way exaggerated. “That’s beautiful. It’s so detailed.”</p><p>    “Yep,” Lindsay said proudly. She slipped the necklace back into her dress, but the grin she bore remained. “It took Meg months to make. She kept making the antlers too thin and would have to melt the metal and start all over again.” Gavin blinked. <em>Meg</em> had made the necklace? </p><p>    “Do all alphas make their omegas’ collars?” </p><p>    “They do,” Lindsay confirmed. She took a sip of her mead. “It’s a tradition. Once an alpha chooses their omega, they made them a collar. I remember many an argument between Michael and Geoff about who was going to do what part of Jack’s collar. Which is part of the reason it’s made of like three different metals <em>and</em> why it has two charms. He’s got, ah what was it? I think a bear claw and a star. Gods, and then they kept bickering about whose symbol was going to go on what side and on and on and on…”</p><p>    So Reginnvaldr had made Gavin’s collar. Those long, calloused fingers deftly weaving delicate strands of gold wire together. Gavin recalled how Jeremy had woven metal around bone in the heat hut. He wondered if Reginnvaldr had wound metal the same way or if he used his fingers to loop the cords of metal over one another like he was weaving wool. It would have taken ages regardless.</p><p>    And if every alpha made their omega a collar <em>after</em> choosing said omega, it meant Reginnvaldr had either made Gavin’s golden chain in the hours they had in Ribe before the bonding ceremony, or that he had fashioned the necklace while traveling. The image of Reginnvaldr on that first journey to Ribe, hunched over candlelight, straining his eyes against the dim lighting while he wove strands of gold together came to Gavin and made him flush. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr would have put it an incredible amount of work into Gavin’s collar. All without him knowing. All in the few weeks, unaided by forge, while they traveled over sea and land, camping in canvas tents. It was an impressive feat, even more so considering the detail and fineness of the finished necklace. </p><p>⁂</p><p>    The chilly but refreshing winter sunshine quickly gave way to biting winds and persistent snows. It wasn’t long before the last of the crops were harvested, and the preparations for Jól began. Gavin, who was used to the piety and stoicism reserved for Christ’s birth back in Northumbria, was equal parts delighted and lost at the zeal with which wreaths of pine and holly were pinned to the doors, and strands of mistletoe were strategically woven into various alcoves. He’d already caught Geoff ‘accidentally’ stumbling under the vine to the delight of an equally ‘accidentally’ stuck Michael.</p><p>    The first few times, it was kind of sweet to see his grumpy friends kiss. The next dozen times, it was more annoying than anything else.</p><p>    But Gavin let them keep at it. He was certain as the months stretched onwards, they missed Jack more and more. It must have been insurmountably difficult, Gavin pondered, with two alphas in a relationship. He imagined it must take a great deal of communication. And sex, of course. The two made it work though, even with their omega’s absence weighing heavily on them. </p><p>    It was Geoff who brought it up, while helping Gavin fix a leak in the great hall’s new roof. Athie was along for the project, diligently holding the nails for his father and sitting on the roof beside them. </p><p>    “Gods I fucking miss my mate,” he said with no preamble. Gavin paused from where he had been about to hammer in a new plank of wood. “Michael’s rut is about to come on, and I’m too damn old to be fucked like that for that long.” Geoff laughed in self-deprecation, but it sounded thin and tired. “Jack used to call it his pre-Jól gift and it’d made Michael puff up like an alpha who’d just popped his first knot. Idiot.” Gavin remained quiet while Geoff babbled on wistfully. Even as much as he pined for Reginnvaldr, he pitied the mated halves littering Ribe. They knew what they were missing. Gavin had a blessed ignorance, though it certainly didn’t feel pleasant. </p><p>    “I miss oma-papa too,” Athie said. His voice was thick and when Gavin glanced up at him in worry, he saw tears in the little boy’s eyes. “When’s he coming back apa-papa? I wan’ him back!” The tears spilled over and blubbering little sobs emerged from the boy, making Gavin's heart hurt. He wanted to reach out and comfort the boy but didn’t want to upset him further. An omega that wasn’t his father and all that. </p><p>    “Hey buddy, hey it’s okay,” Geoff cooed sweetly, pulling Athie to him and settling the boy in his lap. “Oma-papa’s coming back real’ soon, I promise. And he’s probably going to bring you an extra present for missing Jól too.” The prospect of presents had Athie’s sobs calm, but he was still crying when he sniffled and asked “Are you sure, papa?”</p><p>    “Positive,” was Geoff’s confirmation. He bounced Athie on his lap as best he could being sat on a roof, and when the boy’s tears had dried to shuddery breaths and a snotty nose, Geoff turned him to Gavin. “Why don’t you and Gavin go get some of Lindsay’s fried bread with honey while I finish up the roof here? Then we can take a nap.” </p><p>    With Athie’s wide eyes upon him, Gavin had no option but to smile and nod vigorously. “Yeah, that sounds right top, doesn’t it?” He chanced a panicked look at Geoff who only smirked at his worry. </p><p>    Bastard, foisting babysitting off on him. </p><p>    At least he didn’t have to finish the roof, Gavin mused as he helped Athie down the ladder and took his little hand. He grimaced at the feeling of tears and snot squishing against his palm, but made sure it was replaced with a gentle smile when Athie looked upon him.</p><p>    Lindsay, as always, was pleased to have visitors in the <em>stofa.</em> She even spared a moment away from her cooking to tickle Athie and smother some unleavened bread with honey and nuts. They were ushered out, Lindsay citing temperamental yeast or something equally puzzling, so Gavin lead Athie to the little training ring to sit on the bench outside. </p><p>    “So, er,” Gavin was awful at consoling people at the best of times. Let alone consoling a child missing one of their parents. “What are you getting your fathers for Jól? I’m right out of ideas.”</p><p>    Athie chewed on his bread with a thoughtful look that was adorably out of place on his five year old face. “’m gonna make my <em>fóstri</em>-apa a bear guy ‘cause <em>fóstri</em>-apa is a bear fighter. And he’s gonna help me make apa-papa a-a new hat and it’s going to have some of the blue chicken feathers in it ‘cause those are his favorites.”</p><p>    “Those sound like excellent gifts,” Gavin said seriously. “I have no ideas what I should get either of your apas or anyone else for that matter.”</p><p>    “You should get them lotsa’ stuff,” Athie said sagely, cheeks filled like a chipmunk with too much food. </p><p>    “I should,” Gavin agreed. “Got any ideas in particular for what that stuff should be?” He was dead serious. Children were smarter than people gave them credit for and Gavin would exploit that to the fullest effect.</p><p>    “Apples…” Athie said distantly. </p><p>    Well, children were clever when not preoccupied with sweets.</p><p>⁂</p><p>    When the shortest day of the winter did arrive, it arrived with great aplomb. Gavin arose at his usual time, just before the sun began to rise, and dressed without ceremony. The chill in the air had turned cruel in the night, the depths of winter truly suffocating. Though he greatly longed to lounge in the warmth of his bed, under a fair number of furs, sense dictated that he dress and help Lindsay prepare the <em>dagmál</em>. He tried to reason with himself that the <em>stofa</em> would be warmer anyways, with the cooking fires. It didn’t help.</p><p>    Lindsay was overjoyed at the gift Gavin presented her. The little bag of sugar Reginnvaldr sent him would be better off in her hands than hidden away in his room anyways. He had no doubt in his mind that she’d find a way to share it with everyone. </p><p>    They two worked in tandem, sweeping ashes and building up fires, starting the bread and divvying up pickled vegetables. Curiously, Lindsay started her cauldron early, filling it with water and milk. At Gavin’s questioning glance, she gave him a mischievous smile that immediately put him on edge. “Today, all we’re going to do is eat and get fat,” she declared. It set Gavin laughing. “We’re only getting fat? I won’t be telling Jeremy the bad news that we won’t be getting drunk as well,” Gavin teased.</p><p>    Lindsay considered that for a moment and then affected a tone that would make even the snobbiest lord jealous for its self-righteousness. “I amend my previous declaration, today we are getting fat and drunk and eating until we simply can’t take it anymore and we roll over and die.” She could only keep the serious face for a few moments before joining Gavin in laughter. She continued to smile with a kind of pride even when Gavin got enough breath back to tell her she was “a raging lunatic Lindsay, honest.”</p><p>    The pair continued their giggling and cooking long after they were joined by Lindsay’s kitchen apprentices. Despite the chill of the morning and the crowd of the <em>stofa</em>, everyone was in good spirits. When the sun fully took its place in the sky, a call of “Hey!” grabbed Gavin’s attention.</p><p>    Geoff stood a few respectful feet from the doorway of the <em>stofa</em>, with Finna behind him. Heavy in the two’s arms was the front half of a freshly butchered horse. Gavin grimaced at the beast and quickly directed some of the stronger apprentices to take the carcass to be properly integrated into the meal. Despite the beast looking almost like a cow, the legs were just too long and the body just slightly too identifiable for Gavin to want to deal with it.</p><p>    “Bloody gross,” he commented. Finna made a face.</p><p>    “Gotta be traditional over here little baby Gavvy,” she replied, ignoring Gavin’s protest that he was much older than her. “And tell Lindsay that she’s the most beautiful woman in the world and that I can’t wait to taste her cooking.”</p><p>    “I hear you!” Lindsay called from inside the <em>stofa</em>. Gavin snorted at Finna’s melodramatic swoon. He turned to Geoff.</p><p> “What’s this about traditional horses?”</p><p>    “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just eating some horse liver, that’s all. That and drinking, lots of drinking.” He made a face of distaste at that and Gavin mentally reminded himself to have lots of Geoff’s preferred peppermint tea available for the feasting.</p><p>    Well, horse liver couldn’t be any worse than any other type of offal, Gavin thought. And if anyone could make it delicious, it would be Lindsay. He set bid Geoff goodbye and set to work, helping Lindsay finish the massive amounts of food. By the time it reached late afternoon, Gavin was sweaty, sore, and hungry. </p><p>    “I think we’re done,” Lindsay said, and Gavin could have kissed her for how relieved he was to hear that. He almost lingered to watch the apprentices and bondservants set the great platters of food on the tables, but was quickly ushered out by Lindsay who insisted on his cleaning up.</p><p>    Gavin obeyed her. He even went as far as to brave the snow outside and wash. The hotsprings were certainly cooler in the dead of winter than they were in the summer months, but still a warm luxury. It was no longer odd to bathe with others in the hot springs, and so despite not lingering overlong, Gavin paid the other occupants no mind as he quickly washed, dressed in his newest clothes, and braced himself for the cold outside.</p><p>    Back inside the great hall, he spent a moment thumbing at the still-beautiful brooches that held his apron in place. They were older now, scratched in places, a little dull in others, but still things of beauty, and out of place against his usual work tunic and apron. His old formal clothes had been refashioned into daily wear, with the accompanying strain and discoloration following shortly after. </p><p>    And Reginnvaldr had left wearing his own fine clothing. It had to be disgusting by now after months on campaign. That wouldn’t do. As king, he needed formal clothing appropriate to his status. It would simply be unacceptable if he came back without anything to wear save a few grubby tunics. </p><p>    Gavin deliberately did not consider the possibility that Reginnvaldr might not come back.</p><p>    In any case, Reginnvaldr wasn’t the only one lacking appropriate clothing. Gavin himself needed something passable, as did the rest of Reginnvaldr’s council. Anyone else who lived in the great hall was likely in the same boat, formal clothing burned or turned into day wear. And the priestess mentioned needing new robes too. Gavin resolved to find out who was in charge of sewing—or at the very least, who was very good at it—and send for materials before the day was done. </p><p>    Gavin wondered if Jól had traditional clothing, if there was some way he was meant to present himself. He ought to have asked in the days leading up, but they’d been so busy lately, attempting to tend to the winter harvest and coordinating the trade of the stolen monastery goods. He quickly braided his hair, hoping for the best without a looking glass. Normally he didn’t mind a lopsided braid, but today was important and if looking put together was all he could manage, he would manage it.</p><p>⁂</p><p>    Looking put together did not last.</p><p>    “Jeremy!” Gavin squawked, his irritation made less impressive by the flush in his cheeks, the smile on his face, and the wad of snow dripping down his face. He lobbed his own snowball at Jeremy but missed by several feet.</p><p>    “Oi, Littol Jer-em-ey!” Michael mimicked, voice pitching up several octaves and affecting a much more pronounced accent than Gavin thought was fair. “Littol Jeremy, I’m a littol <em>bitch</em> and don’t know how to throw a snow—” Michael sputtered as snow dripped down his own face, Jeremy’s giggling advertising his unrepentant guilt in the crime. </p><p>    “Gavin,” Michael said seriously as the snowball melted on his cloak. “Let’s fucking get him.”</p><p>    Gavin whooped and immediately darted to Michael to help pelt Jeremy with snowballs, despite the faux-whines they received in return. The barrage didn’t stop, and before long, Jeremy dramatically threw himself to the ground, heedless of the snow sticking to his back. </p><p>    “Lord Jeremy of the wintery north,” Gavin enunciated in his most proper tone. “You stand—er, lie—here today accused of the most unforgivable of crimes: snowball assault. How do you plead?”</p><p>    “Guilty, oh so <em>guilty</em>!” Jeremy cried, affecting a similarly dramatic tone. “I did it for the fame!”</p><p>    “Then we have no choice,” Gavin said, raising his arms and reading his snowballs. “But to strike you down. Fire!”</p><p>    Four snowballs hit Jeremy’s head, each one eliciting a louder, hoarser groan. He affected the voice of an old man. “I’ve been slain…No,” he wheezed, rocking from side to side on the ground. “I’ve fought in wars, you know! Respect your elders!”</p><p>    Gavin giggled at his antics. Giggles quickly turned to wheezy laughs when Michael affected his own elderly voice.</p><p>    “Watch out, they call me a wolverine, I’m quick! I’ll eat ‘ya alive,” Michael groaned, quite nonsensically. Gavin rolled his eyes.</p><p>    “Help me up you old bastard!” Jeremy wheezed from the ground, making no attempt at righting himself and instead slowly wiggling in some attempted approximation of old age. </p><p>    They moved on to constructing little men of snow after that. Geoff arrived with Athie and while the brutal snowball fight had been fine for the three lads, the risk of Michael’s ire if his son was hit was persuasion enough to drop the fight. Jeremy swore up and down that he’d find his revenge the next day, with enough snowballs to “take out the whole of Ribe, you bastards!”</p><p>    The current snowman they were making was liable to be at least Gavin’s height, if not a bit taller. Athie joyously jumped around in the snow, each new leap sending snow up to his waist, but he didn’t seem to mind. Commands of “bigger apa, bigger!” and “Gavvy, can we make a face?” were infinitely more important than cold, soon-to-be wet clothing.</p><p>    When the snowman was finished, he sat at a neat six feet tall, wore a crown of evergreen branches, had stones and acorns adorning his face in a smile, and barren tree branches for arms. Athie cheered and immediately named the snowman <em>Nepja</em>, Chilly. Gavin was mature enough to admit it was probably a more descriptive name than what he could have come up with.</p><p>    The moment Athie took Michael on a hunt for more things to decorate the snowman with, Gavin was pelted directly in the face with a fat snowball that had him sputtering and attempting to wipe the melting snow from his eyes. In doing so, he knocked one mitten-clad hand against his mouth, two teeth falling out and making little divots in the snow. </p><p>    “Fuckin’ gross!” Geoff complained. “I wouldn’t have gone for your face if I knew <em>that </em>was going to happen!”</p><p>    “It’s my secret defense strategy,” Gavin retorted, prodding the new emerging teeth with his tongue. They felt fine. “You try and hit me with a snowball, I spit my teeth out at you!”</p><p>    Geoff groaned in disgust while Jeremy laughed and pushed Gavin. “How many more you have left, do you think?” he asked as they spotted Michael carrying an obviously exhausted Athie back. It seemed he did not, in fact, possess a limitless bounty of energy. Gavin certainly wasn’t going to complain, he was rather tired and cold himself.</p><p>    “I dunno, I haven’t really been keeping track,” he replied. “I suppose a few more, but most of the ones in the front have already fallen out.” He ran his tongue over the sharper teeth that had replaced them. It was odd to feel, and he’d bitten his tongue twice already, being unused to the slightly longer, sharper protrusions, but the teeth themselves weren’t unpleasant. It was only losing them that was bothersome. </p><p>    Geoff looked disgusted but said nothing else. Gavin laughed. “Was it this gross for you when Jack’s teeth fell out, or am I just special?”</p><p>    “Firstly, he is my mate so everything he does is beautiful and spectacular even when he spits out his teeth,” Geoff said matter of factly, leading them after Michael and Athie, back to the hall. “And secondly, you spit them out towards <em>me</em>! That’s gross no matter who does it!” </p><p>    Gavin rolled his eyes and Jeremy took their distraction as opportunity to throw a handful of snow at them, leaving Geoff sputtering and Gavin chasing after Jeremy, who ran towards the hall, proclaiming his safety once inside.</p><p>⁂</p><p>    The warmth of the hall was greatly appreciated after such a long time outside. Jeremy disappeared to wash up, while Michael and Geoff took Athie to Jack’s chambers for a nap. Gavin made his way to his chambers to change into something dry before heading back to the <em> stofa</em> to construct Michael, Geoff, and Athie’s gift. Lindsay was easy to swear to secrecy, and even filled in some helpful blanks in his memory of the recipe he wanted to make.</p><p>    A few times, before he had presented and given his father every reason to ban feminine practices, Gavin had assisted Cooke in the kitchens of Castle Bamburgh. Among the many unremarkable things they made, Gavin remembered a day before some holy day or another that Cooke made gingerbrede. Honey boiled and folded together with breadcrumbs and combined with ginger, pepper, saunders wood, and cloves. Cooke had also added something special to make the treat sweeter, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what.</p><p>    “What about some kind of fruit?” Lindsay mused. “Like figs. Or maybe carrots? Both would made it sweeter, help even out all that spice.”</p><p>    “Apples,” Gavin replied immediately, thinking of Athie. “Do we have any dried apples? We can crush it into a powder and roll the gingerbrede in crushed apples and cloves.”</p><p>    Lindsay nodded vigorously. “That sounds excellent, but as keeper of the kitchen, I must insist on having some of the finished product before you give it to Michael and Geoff. Purely for taste-testing reasons of course.”</p><p>    “Of course,” Gavin agreed. “I think it’d be best if I also have a bit, just in case your tastebuds are off.”</p><p>    “Of course.”</p><p>    The two set about constructing their masterpiece, and before long the kitchen smelled sweet and heavy. At the gingerbrede’s completion, Lindsay took a generous slice and bit into it.</p><p>    “Oh no,” she said, looking in dismay at the gingerbrede. Panic filled Gavin as he watched her examine the treat closely. They wouldn’t have time to remake it from scratch before the feast and finish up their other duties. </p><p>    “Oh no?” he prompted when Lindsay didn’t continue.</p><p>    “Oh no, I’m going to eat all of this and ruin Athie’s Jól,” Lindsay declared solemnly. She looked dead serious too. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I want to make this and only this for the rest of my natural life. I’m going to <em>become</em> a loaf of gingerbrede.” </p><p>    Gavin laughed, partially at Lindsay, mostly in relief that he wouldn’t have to scramble for a last minute gift. He took a small piece off Lindsay’s slice, ignoring her protests, and tasted it for himself. It was pretty good, if he said so himself. Light and fluffy, savory but sweet, and the apples added a nice balance to the flavor. Altogether a success.</p><p>    The feast that evening was remarkable, the rebuilt tables so filled with food they were creaking. Gifts passed across the tables with no regard for propriety or the mess. Michael, Geoff and Athie delighted in the gingerbrede gift, and after taking a bite, Athie demanded that Gavin make it all the time from then on. After a heartfelt promise, Athie shoved a small bundle of burlap towards him. </p><p>    “Open!” he commanded. Gavin glanced to Michael and Geoff quizzically, but obeyed Athie and unwrapped the burlap from the object. It was a hand mirror, nearly intact save a crack near the bottom of the glass. It was obviously used, but well kept and beautiful. He trailed a finger around the gilded edges, marveling in its construction. Reginnvaldr’s old mirror had been destroyed in the fire, and Gavin hadn’t been concerned enough with vanity to pursue a new one, content with glimpsing his distorted reflection in water once in a while.</p><p>    “I—I don’t know what to say,” Gavin said, taking his eyes away from the mirror to look at Michael and Geoff. </p><p>    “I think most people start with ‘thank you’ first of all,” Michael teased. </p><p>    “And then maybe something about how great I am and how much you want to do all my chores for me,” Geoff continued, reaching a hand over the table to flick Gavin’s ear.</p><p>    “Thank you,” Gavin said earnestly, tucking the mirror back into the burlap and fixing his gaze to his friends. “Really, you didn’t have to do this, I’m—thank you.”</p><p>    “You’re welcome dickhead,” Geoff said, a smile of his own softening the words. </p><p>    It was remarkable, Gavin thought, looking around the hall. Barring the tables filled only halfway, there was nothing to suggest Ribe was anything other than normal. Wind howled outside, the sound only vaguely audible through the thick wooden walls and the sounds of revelry. It was cozy, safe.</p><p>    As delightful as the feast was, it couldn’t stop Gavin from rubbing at his chest, trying to dispel the empty feeling inside. It had been an entire season since Reginnvaldr and the others left, and though the individual days grew easier as time went on, pangs of sorrow—like those of hunger—attacked Gavin when he least expected it. He took a moment to breathe, assuring himself that the warriors would be back before he knew it, but it didn’t help much.</p><p>    “You still here Gavvy, or did you fly off to the moon?” Michael teased, poking Gavin’s bearded cheek harder than necessary. Gavin swatted his hand away and adopted an appropriately irritated frown for his friend. </p><p>    “Piss off Michael! Just because you talk enough for the both of us doesn’t mean I have to.” Gavin, very maturely, stuck his tongue out.</p><p>    Michael slapped a hand to his chest, looking exceedingly offended. His eyes, however, were filled with mischief, and before Gavin could react, he had pinched Gavin’s tongue between his fingers.  </p><p>    Gavin jerked back with a gag and flailed his hands in the hopes that he’d manage to smack Michael. “Bloody prick!” </p><p>    “Hey, watch your fucking mouth in front of my son, dickhead.”</p><p>    Before Gavin could reply, the hall door creaked open and a young woman with wide eyes and wild hair pushed her way through. It was one of Reginnvaldr’s young warriors, not quite experienced enough to call herself a shield maiden, but certainly on her way. If she’d been in Britannia, Gavin would have called her a squire. </p><p>    “Kaðlín!” Jeremy called, rising from his seat and quickly rushing to help the woman sit. She looked exhausted but pleased. “Do you bring news?”</p><p>    She nodded and gave a tired smile, waving for a mug of hot ale. It was only after the ale had been placed in her hands, and she had downed half of it in one long draught that she spoke. “All is well, we have no dead and have managed to kill ten of Eyesteinn’s best men,” she said, voice high and precise. “But I must admit, news is only the secondary reason that Reginnvaldr sent me. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it in time for Jól.” That’s when Gavin noticed the bulging sack strapped to her back. </p><p>    “Please, sit,” Gavin said, gesturing to the empty seat across from Michael. It was an honorable place, but if Kaðlín had really ridden so many miles through the snow to reach them before Jól ended, then she deserved such a luxury. “You there,” he directed to one of Lindsay’s apprentices. “Please bring extra of everything to this table. Make sure it’s piping hot.” The boy nodded vigorously and immediately darted away. </p><p>    “Reginnvaldr sends word for you, <em>yfir-foeða</em>,” she began, but Gavin shook his head and held up a hand. </p><p>    “Please, eat first. You’ve just come a long way and you’ve told us everyone is safe. Anything else can wait until you’re full and warm.” As if on cue, the apprentice boy reappeared with a steaming plate of food. The moment he set it before Kaðlín, she began eating and nodded gratefully at Gavin, who felt he didn’t deserve such gratitude. He’d only been a decent person. It would have been cruel to force her to report before she could eat. </p><p>    After ten minutes, the plate was half-empty, the hall had returned to its previous revelry, and Kaðlín was handing Gavin the sack. He raised an eyebrow but took the sack. The entire thing couldn’t be for him, that would be preposterous. Never mind Reginnvaldr sending one of his warriors all the way out for presents, with no pressing news, in stormy weather and increasingly deep snow.</p><p>    “He, uh, he said that it’s meant to be yours,” Kaðlín said, apparently understanding Gavin’s bemusement. “I have some things for others—Jakaupr sent gifts for his family, Mjǫll sent one for Hlaðgerðr—but this bag is all yours.”</p><p>    Without delaying, Gavin untied the sack. He was immediately hit with a wave of Reginnvaldr’s scent and inhaled greedily. He almost wanted to close the sack back up again to preserve the scent for as long as possible, but his burning curiosity about its contents pushedhim to open the bag  again and pull out the first thing his hand touched, closing the bag quickly to try and keep the scent in.</p><p>    It was a runestick he pulled out, but it wasn’t wood. It must have been polished bone, though how Reginnvaldr managed to clean and polish bone out in the middle of nowhere, while chasing Eyesteinn around, Gavin had no idea. He traced his finger through the carvings, marveling at the evident skill in the fine detail. </p><p>    “What’s it say?” Gavin asked Kaðlín. She shrugged. </p><p>    “Not a clue.”</p><p>    After placing the runestick on the table, Gavin withdrew what turned out to be a relatively large antler, cut and smoothed into a portable shape. A cork, tied with a thin strip of leather, was fastened to the antler. Brow furrowing, Gavin pulled at the cork until it popped out. He blinked in amazement. The antler had been hollowed out and filled with an earthy, almost heavy smelling oil. He held it up with a questioning look at Kaðlín.</p><p>    “I think it’s olive oil,” she replied before impressively stuffing an entire sweet roll into her mouth. </p><p>    He could feel what was likely a fur or some kind in the sack, wrapped around the other objects inside but resolved to unwrap them later. Gavin returned the oil to the sack and tied it closed before turning to Kaðlín.</p><p>    “Thank you,” he said. “I can’t imagine riding through the snow like this, let alone with extra weight, just to bring us gifts and word. Thank you, Kaðlín.”</p><p>    She waved him off with a smile. “Don’t mention it. It means I get to stuff myself full for Jól inside a warm hall. I’ll take that any day, long ride or not.” She took a long draught of ale before continuing. “<em>Yfir-maðr</em> Reginnvaldr suspects they’ll return come springtime, if not a bit after.”</p><p>    “I see,” Gavin replied when she did not continue. His heart hurt terribly when he thought of how much longer they would be separated. The scant scent-marked gifts and carved runsticks did little to ease the bone-deep pain from absence. Gavin missed Reginnvaldr’s touch, his fresh scent, his warmth. Gods how Gavin missed his warmth, especially now, when frost seemed to permeate every nook and cranny.</p><p>    “He’s killed important men,” Kaðlín said, as though it were consolation for Reginnvaldr’s absence. “It’s good progress.”</p><p>    “It is,” Gavin agreed halfheartedly. Kaðlín gave him a nod before inquiring about a bed.</p><p>    “Yes, of course,” he replied. “Please, take the first door on the left. It’s unoccupied but should have bedding already. I imagine you’re exhausted from the ride. Feel free to rest as long as you’d like tomorrow. I’ll instruct them to set aside food for when you wake.”</p><p>    Kaðlín thanked him and quickly departed, leaving Gavin to absentmindedly thumb at the bag of gifts on his lap. He wondered how impolite it would be to leave the feast early to sort out the gifts alone. The idea was quickly discarded as Jeremy approached him carrying two ridiculously large horns overflowing with foam and alcohol.</p><p>    “Happy Jól, Gavvy-Wavvy!” Jeremy cried, clearly already past tipsy. “And as your gift,” he shoved one of the drinking horns into Gavin’s hands, only a few tablespoons of alcohol sloshing over the side. “’S one of my finest horns yet, and the mead is fucking <em>old</em>.”</p><p>    “Jer!” Gavin exclaimed, smile growing on his face and bag of gifts temporarily forgotten. “I haven’t got anything for you though.”</p><p>    Jeremy waved him off with a scoff. “That’s not why I made it, dumbass. And you can make it up to me by drinking.” Without waiting for his reply, Jeremy slammed his horn against Gavin’s before chugging it at a shocking speed. Gavin fumbled to catch up and succeeded in spilling a good amount of mead down his front as a result. Jeremy’s only reaction was to squint his eyes in delight and give Gavin a playful shove.</p><p>    The drinking horn was so large that by the time Gavin finished it, he was panting and already feeling foggy. Jeremy, the bastard, looked completely unaffected save the red in his cheeks.</p><p>    “You’re a real man now Gav!” He declared, just a touch too loudly.</p><p>    “What, did his voice finally drop?” Came Michael’s input.</p><p>    “Ey! That’s enough outta you!” Gavin protested. His voice cracked much to his friends’ giggly delight. Gavin stuck his nose in the air and reached blindly for his normal cup and drained it of ale instead of indulging their teases. </p><p>    “Another round for our <em>yfir-fœða</em>!” Michael cried, and was promptly obeyed when a server brought a large bowl over. The server, noticing their state, wisely left them the entire bowl of mead.</p><p>    Gavin smiled and let Michael pour him another drink, but the empty feeling in his chest never yielded. He cackled with the others at Jeremy snorting beer up his nose, but he still felt like a part of him was missing. He protested at Geoff’s long-suffering eye-rolls, but the longing ate at him nonetheless. It was a joyous time, but a sense of loneliness prevailed and seeped into Gavin’s bones. It was strange, Gavin thought through the fog of alcohol, that the joy should not distract his pain. That he should feel more lonely now than when herding sheep or chopping wood. </p><p>    He grabbed his mug and drained it to hide the growing brittleness of his smile. </p><p>    “Geoff, do you have a second?” he asked, during a lull in the conversation. When Geoff looked at him quizzically, Gavin passed him the runestick. </p><p>    Geoff’s eyebrows raised at its fine construction and he ran a finger over the carvings before reading. Gavin watched his mouth form silent words, finger tracing each letter, and tried not to feel jealous at Geoff’s ability to read the letters.</p><p>    “It’s private. Want me to wait until I can tell you alone?</p><p>    Gavin considered it for a moment, but decided he was too desperate for the words. Besides, everyone around them was a close friend. “Tell me.”</p><p>    “<em>I love you so much that fire seems cold to me,</em></p><p>
  <em>    How I long to be warmed by your touch, my love.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    Though apart, </em>
</p><p><em>    Love conquers all; let us too yield to love.</em>”</p><p>    Gavin coughed and turned away to hide the wetness gathering in his eyes. Geoff mercifully turned away after placing the bone in front of Gavin, leaving him to his teary eyes and clenched heart. The bone, polished to the point of resembling precious stone, glimmered in the firelight, the carvings casting shadows and seeming to move with the sway of the flames. Gavin ran his thumb over the carvings once more before replacing the runestick in the bag and returning to the greater conversation.</p><p>⁂</p><p>    It was in the wee hours of the morning that Gavin finally collapsed facedown on to his bed, shoes shoved off his feet and too much alcohol making him slow. He’d been the last to leave the hall, too busy helping put away left over food and washing plates to worry about his drunkenness or the lateness of the hour. Even Lindsay’s apprentices had retired after Gavin waved them off.</p><p>    With a great struggle, Gavin managed to disrobe without removing his face from the bedfurs and he maneuvered himself under the covers with only the slightest drunken disorientation. Though he was burrowed under the blankets, by all accounts as safe and warm as a bear cub in its den, he felt cold. Exposed. </p><p>    A shiver wracked his body and Gavin pulled the furs tighter around him, already regretting dressing down to his under tunic. The alcohol was making his head spin terribly while laying down and Gavin thought he might be sick.</p><p>    With a frankly astounding about of effort, he rolled out from the bed furs and set upon dragging the seldom-used chamber pot closer to the bed. It’d be better than vomiting on the ground. Fumbling in the dark ensured that he stubbed his toe on the bedframe and tripped over the sack of gifts. With a great deal of cursing, Gavin positioned his chamber pot and stooped to grab the sack of gifts before returning to bed.</p><p>    Snuggled back in his furs, he opened the bag. The antler filled with oil was quickly placed on his bedside table. He didn’t know the first thing about actually using olive oil, and but knew he didn’t want it spilling on his bedfurs. The runestick he set aside too, its words already chiseled into the stone of his memory. The furs were next.</p><p>    A great pelt, not unlike the wolf’s pelt Gavin wore and sacrificed to the fire, was wrapped around something heavy. The pelt itself, although unlined and feeling quite rough, was saturated with Val’s scent and Gavin did not begrudge himself the pained whine that escaped his lips at the smell. He wasted no time in unfurling the cloak and wrapping it around him, ignoring the thump of its contents hitting the bed. They didn’t matter. What mattered was that, surrounded by his mate’s scent, Gavin felt warm for the first time since the snow fell.</p><p>    Gavin’s bliss was interrupted only when he shifted to lay down and felt something cold and metallic brush against his cheek. He lifted the object squinted. Though he couldn’t be sure from the dark, it looked like a long string of beads, not unlike the ones he usually wore between his apron brooches. The half of Gavin that was drunk and exhausted warred with the half that wanted to know what his gift looked like.</p><p>    The war was ultimately decided when Gavin groaned and left the bed—still wrapped in the pelt—and fumbled with lighting a beeswax candle. It took far longer than it should have with his hands clumsy from cold and drink, but after a few minutes, dim light illuminated the bed. </p><p>    The string of beads was just that, though merely calling them beads didn’t seem right. Chunks of amber were spaced with perfectly spherical beads of lapis lazuli, colored glass, and long carved beads of what must have been gold. The string was precious, likely costing nearly as much coin as they made from the raid. Shock at the elegance of the gift washed through him. How Reginnvaldr was able to procure such a rich treasure, Gavin did not know. He didn’t know the purpose of keeping such a thing instead of selling it, but Reginnvaldr had sent it for a reason and Gavin would hide it away with the other treasures Reginnvaldr sent him. Perhaps there would be occasion to wear it in the future. Some diplomatic quest or important holiday. Perhaps Reginnvaldr would be by his side when the opportunity presented itself; could see what Gavin looked like wearing it.</p><p>     Gavin placed the beads alongside the antler and runestick before burrowing into the bedfurs, content that the gifts had been appreciated appropriately for the hour. He let his eyes grow heavy, let his body finally relax, and let himself imagine that it was not a pelt wrapped around him, but his absent mate. </p><p>    In the hours after midnight, with a belly full of mead, there was a moment where Gavin actually believed it. Could feel the warmth of Reginnvaldr’s arms caged around him, could feel his chest behind him expanding with every breath that tickled Gavin’s neck on the exhale, could feel gentle lips press a kiss into the nape of his neck. </p><p>    Gavin woke to an empty room and a chill that was bone-deep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oops I made it sad. I'll make it up to you next week ;)<br/>Historical Shenanigans:</p><p>1) The silver cups/bowls lined with gold that Val sends Gav are vaguely based off the Vale of York Hoard that contained similar items</p><p>2) <a href="http://www.eg.bucknell.edu/~lwittie/sca/food/dessert.html">Here's</a> a medieval recipe for the gingerbrede Gavin and Lindsay make! I haven't made it myself, and imo medieval European food tends to (understandably) be a bit bland, so if you make some, I give you full permission to add sugar. &lt;3</p><p>3) I had no clue what Val was going to send Gavin for Jól (even to the hour before I sent this chapter to Noel for editing.) Thankfully, one of my medieval recreation friends, Sir Elrick, posted pictures of some antler oil vessels he carved on Facebook right when I needed it most. Thanks Sir Elrick, and I hope you never read this!</p><p>(Bonus fact that I forgot about: Sugar was thought to have medicinal purposes, which is why Gavin thinks about giving the sugar to Stefi--a healer--if someone grew ill)</p><p>I'll see you next week lovely people! Whoever guesses what happens next week wins a cookie and Odin's blessing 👀 [eyes emoji]</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well done to everyone who guessed this would be the reunion chapter! Please do note the new rating and new tags: this is chock full of smutty, smutty goodness. To avoid the explicit smut, stop reading at the line "Reginnvaldr carefully lowered Gavin to the cold stone and dirt floor of the cave" and begin reading again at the line "When the two finally emerged from the cave" after the asterism ⁂</p><p>A thank you to all those who commented on the last chapter! I've been Going Through It as of late and your words and reassurances are a balm to my overworked soul! </p><p>A HUGE thank you to both <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a> and <a href="https://deaadcrush.tumblr.com/">Lou</a> who helped make this chapter readable &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 16</p><p>    It felt both like years and only days after Jól that the snow began to melt and the first brave birds began chirping their arrival. Gavin, for one, couldn’t be more pleased that the snow was becoming more manageable at last. For all the snowball fights and snowmen had been good fun, trudging through the stuff in the wee hours of the morning for humanizing needs was a trial he didn’t miss.</p><p>    Before he’d really noticed it, Gavin found himself in springtime, directing the layout of the spring’s crops, kicking away the bits of ice that stubbornly clung to the shady parts of the great hall, and breathing in the sweet smell of the earth awaking from its slumber. It struck him that he’d now been away from Reginnvaldr longer than he’d been with him. It had been very nearly a year ago that he’d arrived in Ribe, pale-faced and shaky. And Reginnvaldr had left him at the turn of autumn, two seasons ago. Gavin wryly wondered if the alpha would find him as attractive now, tanned and rugged from a life in the north, no longer the skinny, bare-faced youth he’d stolen away from Northumbria. </p><p>    When it pleased him to examine his face in the new looking glass that resided in his quarters, as rare an occasion as it was, Gavin could scarcely recognize himself. Gone was the baby fat and smooth skin, in its place a long haired wild man, scruff decorating his jaw, face mature, though still indulgently soft and pleasing as was typical of omegas. He didn’t look out of place with a braid now. He didn’t look out of place with bare feet and mugs of mead and the names of the Æsir on the tip of his tongue. </p><p>    He only awaited Reginnvaldr’s return, to indulge in his belonging with the alpha who frequented his dreams and sent him rune-sticks covered in poetry.</p><p>    Gavin was in the stables when it happened. The roan horse didn’t scare him as much as it used to, so gentle and sweet was its disposition. And with the warriors taking most of the large war chargers, Gavin slowly began adjusting to the stocky workhorses and smaller riding horses. The roan horse made an excellent companion for the quieter moments now that he no longer feared being trampled. He was brushing and detangling the horse’s mane. The stall was freshly mucked and Gavin wanted the horse to match the cleanliness of the stall, even if it took entirely too long with his unpracticed fingers. </p><p>    So caught up in the horse and his clumsy attempts at braiding, it took Jeremy grabbing his shoulder before Gavin realized his name had been called half a dozen times. “Oðinn’s sake, Jeremy, what is it? You nearly sent me to the grave!” </p><p>    “They’re back.”</p><p>    Gavin blinked once. Then twice. Back, they were back. “They—?” He couldn’t finish, the words were sticking in his suddenly too-dry throat. Jeremy seemed to understand and nodded his confirmation. “Are they…?”</p><p>    “Everyone’s fine,” Jeremy said soothingly, gently pushing Gavin out of the stables and towards the longhouse. “Meg got pretty beat up at one point, but I think she’s secretly pleased about the scars, you know how crazy Lindsay goes over them.”</p><p>    “They’re back…” Gavin said again, still dazed. How on Earth would it feel, he wondered, to see Reginnvaldr again? After his lonely heat, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt how important Reginnvaldr was to him. Gavin spotted the group in the fallow field, some warriors on horseback, many others dismounted. He could see Reginnvaldr’s massive black charger standing taller than the other mounts, but couldn’t see Reginnvaldr himself. Suddenly adrenaline coursed through him, shocking his nerves like ice water had been poured on him in his sleep. Reginnvaldr was really here, only a few hundred paces away.</p><p>    Gavin took off, ignoring Jeremy’s shout of surprise, and leaping over any obstacles in his way. He didn’t even stop at the fence, merely vaulting over it despite its height. His heart was hammering in his ears, blood rushing, urging him, faster, faster, <em>faster</em>. His mate, his mate, his <em>mate</em>.</p><p>    Without conscious thought, Gavin barreled through the gathered group, shoving aside his clansmen and following <em>something</em> inside him that directed him to Reginnvaldr. He felt it, like a rope getting pulled taut, pulling him closer to his mate. A force he might have attributed to magic had he the mind to consider it. Another shove, another leap, and there he was.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr looked tired. His hair was long, scraggly and greasy. His beard had grown quite long and unkempt. His eyes were lined and bruised with lack of sleep and he overall looked worse for wear. But Gavin didn’t care. He was <em>here</em>. He was home. Oh the months felt more like years, even more-so now that he’d returned. There you are, Gavin thought dazedly, I’ve been waiting for you for forever.</p><p>    Gavin knew the moment Reginnvaldr became aware of his presence. He stiffened and his eyes flickered instantly to where Gavin stood. Reginnvaldr dropped the bundle he was carrying, and with a deafening roar was upon Gavin.</p><p>    Their lips collided, pain and longing and something like disbelief coating them from the inside out. It <em>hurt</em> to feel whole again so suddenly, and Gavin felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. By the great shuddering breaths Reginnvaldr was taking in between desperate kisses, Gavin wasn’t the only one affected so deeply. Gods it was too much and not enough; Gavin wanted to hold Reginnvaldr and be held by him forever. He couldn’t bear to embrace him so tenderly after so long apart but thought he might shatter if they separated. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr pulled away from his lips to mouth at Gavin’s neck, sending shocks throughout Gavin’s body. His knees wobbled and threatened to give out, and he clutched at Reginnvaldr’s filthy tunic desperately. Even through the dirt, Gavin could smell him. Overwhelmingly so. Old sweat and travel clung to him, making his scent so intense Gavin thought it might be crushing him. </p><p>    “Well, uh, suppose you’re happy to see us, aren’t you Gavin?” Jack teased, but he sounded so distant that Gavin didn’t think it important to reply. Not when Reginnvaldr was nipping at his neck so deliciously. “Gavin? Oh no.”</p><p>    Warmth was spreading throughout Gavin, making his fingers clumsy and his vision narrow. He was going into heat. And judging by Reginnvaldr’s changing scent, Gavin’s instincts weren’t the only ones being triggered by their reunion. Shit. </p><p>    As much as it pained him to do so, Gavin pulled away from his alpha and tugged the man’s hair until they could make eye contact. “Reginnvaldr,” Gavin said seriously, using his full name. His voice wavered from the urges bubbling within him, but he pressed on. “Mate me. The heat will overcome me soon and I need you to know, I…” Gavin swallowed hard, trying to resist  the instinctual urge to run . “<em>Ek ann þér</em>. I love you.” The jittery warmth was in his legs now and he knew he had only seconds before the heat took over. “Please, I want this. I want you to mate me, alpha. Alpha.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr inhaled sharply and the heat-scent Gavin must have been giving off caused his eyes to dilate. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “<em>Minn fœða-ást</em>, my beloved.” Reginnvaldr growled, their closeness causing it to echo through Gavin’s chest as if it were his own. Gavin quivered in his arms and whined. “Now, <em>run</em>.”</p><p>    Gavin was thirty paces away before he even realized he’d moved, but he didn’t stop. His long-suppressed instincts were in complete control, and he relished in the freedom they brought. He heard a distant roar and figured Reginnvaldr was in hot pursuit. The knowledge just made Gavin run harder. He darted beyond the tree-line and didn’t dare look back before rushing deeper into the forest. The sparring with Michael had improved his endurance and speed to the point where Gavin barely felt winded, more focused on keeping his arms pumping and legs steady. </p><p>    Another roar sounded, startling a nearby gathering of crows into flight . Reginnvaldr was close. Despite craving the touch of his alpha, Gavin didn’t slow. His alpha had to prove himself and they’d only just begun. With a renewed sense of giddy excitement, Gavin put on a burst of speed and continued forward. It wasn’t long, however, before Reginnvaldr’s scent became stronger and a glance back saw him not five paces from Gavin, a determined look on his face. </p><p>    Gavin tripped over a root, his punishment for looking back, and landed hard on the damp earth. Instantly Reginnvaldr was atop him, pushing him down, hands holding his wrists and mouth panting hot air on to the back of his neck. “Mine.”</p><p>    Gavin shuddered and moaned at the word, feeling slick beginning to stain the insides of his thighs. He pushed his backside up into Reginnvaldr and wiggled around, but Reginnvaldr’s grip remained strong and he only ground back. Gods, Gavin could feel the thick, hot length pressing into him through the layers of clothing and he wiggled harder, desperate to get free, to feel Reginnvaldr’s skin. </p><p>    A rumbling growl that Gavin could <em>feel</em> had him stilling. The delicious weight on top of him coupled with the slow grind of Reginnvaldr’s cock was driving him mad. He needed more, he needed <em>something</em>. It was overwhelming and Gavin whined pitifully in an attempt to stop the sensations that were so indirect they were painful. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr purred in response and the deep sound resonated just as intensely as the growl. Gavin moaned softly at it, and moaned again when Reginnvaldr moved his hands from Gavin’s wrists to around his chest. In the blink of an eye, Gavin was being turned around and lifted up. Reginnvaldr’s hands, large and warm, settled on Gavin’s ass, holding him up as Gavin wound his arms around Reginnvaldr’s neck. They were so close, but it felt so far all the same. Gavin couldn’t help making little aborted rocking motions against Reginnvaldr. Any attempt at getting closer, at feeling his alpha.  </p><p>    Reginnvaldr carried Gavin back through the forest with surprising speed, though Gavin was so lost in the haze of lust and anticipation that he barely noticed. It was only a short while before they emerged from the forest and back into the fallow field. Gavin didn’t understand why Reginnvaldr made such an effort to return, Gavin would have been perfectly happy to writhe on the forest ground, but Reginnvaldr’s movements were determined. And so Gavin contented himself to scenting his alpha’s neck deeply and grinding into Reginnvaldr’s stomach. </p><p>    A gruff rumble had Reginnvaldr stooping to pick up two heavy-looking sacks. He managed to secure the sacks over his shoulders without dropping Gavin— an impressive feat in his pre-rut addled mind— and again set off toward the forest, this time choosing an entry point closer to the longhouse. The sun was beginning to set and Gavin whined, instincts confused at the lack of mating.  </p><p>    “Shhh,” Reginnvaldr hushed, but the rut garbled his voice into something deep and arousing rather than soothing. “Soon.”</p><p>    Gavin rocked harder against his alpha and sucked a deep purple mark on his neck. His teeth grazed over the juncture of Reginnvaldr’s neck and shoulder, causing him to shudder violently and pick up pace. Good, Gavin was tired of waiting, he was ready to get to wherever Reginnvaldr was headed. </p><p>    About a hundred paces from the forest line, Gavin felt Reginnvaldr slow to a complete stop. He struggled to remove his nose from Reginnvaldr’s neck, but Gavin managed it to look around. They were in a relatively clean and poorly lit cave. It smelled like earth and stone and <em>Reginnvaldr</em>, not hint of another living being inside. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr carefully lowered Gavin to the cold stone and dirt floor of the cave. Gavin whined at the cold and made to grab Reginnvaldr and pull him close again, but Reginnvaldr was already too far away. A more desperate whine bubbled from his mouth and distantly, Gavin realized he was acting melodramatically, but in the moment all he could think of was how far Reginnvaldr was. He was nearly three feet away for Oðinn’s sake! </p><p>    His whining proved effective, and Reginnvaldr was on Gavin again in an instant, sans bags this time. Gavin made a happy noise and felt his heart soar at Reginnvaldr’s attentive nuzzling. The growing ambient warmth and crackling of wood informed some distant part of Gavin’s mind that Reginnvaldr had left him to start a fire. He appreciated it because he knew no matter how desperately overheated he felt now, they’d freeze in the night without it. Yes, he chose his alpha well, Gavin was sure of it.</p><p>    Gavin’s half-cognizant thoughts melted like butter on a hot stone when Reginnvaldr scrapped his teeth over his jugular, beard scratching the delicate skin. Little jolts of lightning flew over his skin and gathered in his belly like fire. Gavin bucked up, groaning when his cock ground against Reginnvaldr’s own through the damnable layers of clothing between them. Offended at the audacity of said clothes to keep him from the bare skin of his mate, Gavin very reasonably, yanked on Reginnvaldr’s grimy tunic until the neckline tore down to his waist. </p><p>    The skin on display, all hardened muscle and wisps of hair, had Gavin salivating. Reginnvaldr’s tightly packed chest called out to Gavin. Following the impulse he stretched upward, abs flexing in effort, and bit Reginnvaldr’s left pectoral. Hard.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr growled so loudly Gavin swore he felt the walls shake around them. Or perhaps it was only Reginnvaldr’s arms that shook, caged around Gavin as they were. Regardless, it encouraged Gavin to keep his teeth in and suck around the flesh, only pulling back when it was purpled and bruised from his teeth. The mark was thrilling, and Gavin’s teeth ached in want of more.</p><p>    “Gavin,” Reginnvaldr said, voice deep and rumbling. Surprisingly deft hands made quick work of Gavin’s belt and tunic. The pants gave Reginnvaldr a brief pause for they caught on Gavin’s shoes, but soon enough, Gavin was laid bare before Reginnvaldr, shivering slightly from anticipation. There was no room in Gavin’s mind to feel self-conscious at his nudity, though frustration from being the only one unclothed shook him so severely that he growled. It was laughably weak, a petulant omega’s growl, one given by an impatient brat, but it surprised Reginnvaldr long enough for Gavin to shove Reginnvaldr's tattered tunic off his shoulders and yank his trousers down. </p><p>    Thankfully, Reginnvaldr assisted Gavin when the trousers caught on his winnigas and when his tunic caught on his still looped belt, and it wasn’t long before Gavin was overwhelmed with lust at the sight of Reginnvaldr’s body bathed in firelight. He was <em>beautiful</em>. Muscle and fat blending together seamlessly down his body, legs thick and corded from hunting and riding. The sparse chest hair dipped past his stomach and gathered in thick curls around his cock, and Gavin wanted to trace his tongue through the trail, see if the hair caught on his tongue. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr seemed to be in a similar daze gazing upon Gavin’s own skin bared before him like an offering to the gods. Gavin could take in the dazed look for only a moment before Reginnvaldr was upon him. His lips trailed from Gavin’s neck down his chest, kisses and gentle bites littering his skin. He stopped at Gavin’s cock, which twitched at the proximity and before Gavin could do much of anything, Reginnvaldr licked a wide stripe up his cock. </p><p>    The moan that ripped its way out of Gavin’s throat sounded desperate and they hadn’t even done anything. Gods damn the smug bastard who smirked up at Gavin. The rut was evident in Reginnvaldr’s eyes, but he must have had enough wherewithal to want to pleasure Gavin before mating him. Gavin thought that was incredibly kind of him, and then promptly thought nothing at all when he felt Reginnvaldr’s tongue trail farther down and plunge into him. Gavin nearly shot off the bed at the sensation and writhed at the intensity that bordered on overstimulation.  </p><p>    Oh, the things Reginnvaldr could do with his tongue were <em>sinful</em>. Gavin felt like his entire world narrowed to the sensation. Reginnvaldr tongued at him like his life depended on it. And then Gavin felt Reginnvaldr trail a hand downward and, oh <em>fuck</em>, Reginnvaldr was fingering him as he ate him out. Embarrassingly fast, Gavin felt himself teeter on the edge of orgasm and he was torn between whining for Reginnvaldr to stop and riding his face for more.</p><p>    Warmth rushed through his body, his stomach tightened, and then—</p><p>    “Oh, fuck, <em>oh FUCK</em>, Val!” Gavin’s orgasm tore through him, more quickly than he could ever recall. Slick gushed around where Reginnvaldr’s fingers and tongue still thrust inside him, creating sounds that had Gavin blushing beyond the stimulation.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr didn’t let up, his fingers crooked just right to hook on a spot that made Gavin’s legs shake with how good it felt. His tongue danced along Gavin’s hole, lapping up every drop of slick like it was the mead of poetry. <em>Gods</em> it felt good, but it wasn’t enough. It was leagues away from enough.</p><p>    Just as he felt the hints of another orgasm cresting over him, Gavin growled, loud and dangerous, surprising even himself with the strength of it. Reginnvaldr’s fingers immediately paused and his head rose, a cautious expression on his face. He made an inquiring sound and began to withdraw his fingers. That was completely unacceptable. </p><p>    So quickly, he made his own head spin, Gavin managed to squirm away from Reginnvaldr’s grip and shove him down, straddling the man. “<em>Now</em>, alpha,” he commanded, a bit of the growl still present in his voice.</p><p>    And Reginnvaldr, good alpha that he was, obeyed.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr gripped his member and slowly, slowly thrust into Gavin. The stretch was wonderful, the thickness splitting Gavin open and filling every crevice inside. His mouth opened in a silent ‘<em>Oh</em>’ at the feeling. And it kept going, going, until Reginnvaldr was buried to the hilt and Gavin felt like he could barely breathe. Gods, he was so deep, he was so thick. </p><p>    “Move!” Gavin cried out, the word garbled and desperate.</p><p>    With a snarl that would not have been amiss on the battlefield, Reginnvaldr pulled out and thrust in. It was overwhelming, and Gavin couldn’t help but let the whines and moans pour from his mouth like a river cresting over a waterfall. “Alpha, alpha, Val—fuck, <em>please</em>! More!”</p><p>     Without stopping the thrusts, Reginnvaldr sat upright, stomach flexing and arms moving from Gavin’s hips to wrap around his body. He was so close, his breath ghosting across Gavin’s neck in pants and half-silenced moans. Gavin pressed his lips against Reginnvaldr’s neck, inhaling as he does so and he felt himself grow madder, <em>wetter</em>, at the heady scent of Reginnvaldr’s rut.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr’s thrusts were but a gentle rutting, the pressure inside Gavin softer than a whisper and leaving him no choice but to squirm in his lap. Gods, he <em>ached</em>. His entire body felt sore, like after training for hours without break. When the squirming proved ineffective, Gavin threw his hands upon Reginnvaldr’s shoulders, let his knees touch the ground, and forced Reginnvaldr inside him deeper, harder. </p><p>    “Gavin!” Reginnvaldr yelled, hands instinctively falling to his omega’s hips. He looked awed, almost scared of Gavin bouncing atop him. The look spurred Gavin on, and before long he was shuddering and coming, head falling to expose his neck and eyes rolling back. It was nothing like coming on Reginnvaldr’s fingers, though that was nice too. No, it was more than Gavin could describe, a deep stormy pleasure rolling throughout his entire body. Sweat dripped from his every pore, the heat raging just as hotly as the intensity of his orgasm. </p><p>    “Fuck!” Reginnvaldr yelled and finally, finally, began moving again. Gavin could do little else but whimper and hold on for dear life. The sounds of slick and sweat filled the air, mingling with their moans, echoing off the stone walls. He had come twice already, but Gavin wanted more. Needed more.</p><p>    “Gonna fuck me good, alpha?” Gavin said, forcing his lazy tongue to form the words. “Gonna…gonna fill me—<em>ah!</em>—fill me up?”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr groaned and bit at Gavin’s neck, little sucking bites that did nothing but make Gavin whine. “T-tell me alpha, tell me.”</p><p>    Another thrust, hard enough to unsteady Gavin, distracted him from the growl Reginnvaldr unleashed, but not from the words that spilled from his lips. “You want me to fuck you good? This not enough for you, omega?” Reginnvaldr’s grip on his hips turned bruising and he pulled Gavin down the moment he thrust up, deep enough that Gavin could feel Reginnvaldr prodding at his limits.</p><p>    “Want me to fill you up? Breed you?” Another bite, just shallow enough to leave the skin unbroken, but hard enough to guarantee a bruise. “I’m going to breed you so full, they’ll think you’re with child already.”</p><p>    The thought of being  swollen with Reginnvaldr’s seed had Gavin moaning louder, broken and feverish. He gripped hard at Reginnvaldr’s shoulders, feeling his nails tear skin. Reginnvaldr growled and Gavin only gripped harder.</p><p>    “Do you feel me?” Reginnvaldr panted, voice low and smoky. “Do you feel me inside you?” He dragged a hand up from Gavin’s hips and traced his fingers over his stomach. The gentleness, at odds with the brutal pace had Gavin shivering as he moaned. Reginnvaldr pressed those gentle fingers firmly against Gavin’s stomach. </p><p>    Fire raced through Gavin’s veins at the feeling and he cried out, the sound garbled like he was being choked. The pressure, sharp inside and out, only added to the pleasure building inside him and refusing to disperse. Gods, he might die here, so wrapped in bliss that it was nearly suffocating.</p><p>    “Val!” Gavin cried, “Val, alpha, <em>alpha</em>!” He was being consumed by fire, he must have been, so scorching, and hot, and heavy was Reginnvaldr inside him. Those gentle fingers pressed harder where Reginnvaldr was buried, insistent and unerring. </p><p>    Gavin wrenched his hands away from Reginnvaldr’s shoulders when the punctures he made became slick with sweat and blood, and instead wove his fingers through Reginnvaldr’s hair. Each tug rewarded him with a sharp inhale and an ever sharper thrust. He wasn’t going to last, he was going to topple over the edge, he was going to come.</p><p>    “Not yet,” Reginnvaldr said, and Gavin didn’t realize he’d been speaking out loud, but he whined in reply. </p><p>    “Alpha, alpha <em>please</em>!” He punctuated the plea with a sharp tug on Reginnvaldr’s hair and a heavy grind of his hips. Reginnvaldr’s resulting moan would have made Gavin smirk had he the mind to consider it.</p><p>    “Gavin,” Reginnvaldr groaned, voice breaking, nearly breathless. </p><p>    “Knot me! Alpha, I want your knot.” As if reacting to his command, Gavin felt Reginnvaldr’s knot swell. Only a little more and they’d be locked together. “Val, please!” Reginnvaldr’s thrusts turned sloppy then, rushed and so hard they were just on the precipice of pain. It felt spectacular. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr came with a roar.</p><p>    His knot fully swollen, locked deep inside Gavin, pressing on the exact spot that made his eyes roll back and his back arch. The moment he started coming, Gavin whited out, bliss erupting across his vision and leaving no room for anything save the toe-curling pleasure coursing through his body. At its peak, when Gavin tensed so hard it made Reginnvaldr twitch inside him, Reginnvaldr’s teeth closed at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and bit. <em>Hard</em>.</p><p>    The intensity of the warring sensations had Gavin shuddering, his orgasm cresting again. He couldn’t tell which way was up, he forgot where he was, or what his name was. All that mattered was Reginnvaldr. Reginnvaldr’s cock, filling him to the brim. Reginnvaldr’s arms wrapped around him. Reginnvaldr’s teeth bloodying his skin. </p><p>    They might have been fusing together, Gavin thought distantly, through the haze of pleasure. They might be so wrapped in one another that they were indistinguishable, two souls so entwined they couldn’t exist alone. It felt wonderful, like he was surrounded by Reginnvaldr’s very being. Gavin gave a gentle shudder at the sense of togetherness that wrapped around him.</p><p>    “Bloody fantastic, Val,” he said, voice lazy with afterglow. He relished in the relatively clear mind he possessed in the wake of his momentarily satisfied heat. He still felt warm and muddled like he did in heat, but it was easier to navigate with Reginnvaldr’s cock still buried deep inside him. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr gave a low chuckle and finally detached his teeth from Gavin’s skin. “Glad to hear it Gav,” he rumbled. He gently maneuvered the pair until they were on their sides, Reginnvaldr hugging Gavin close to wait out the knot. Gavin hissed as Reginnvaldr licked at the bite on his neck. It was sore even through the endorphins still flooding his system.</p><p>    “Nearly wore me out,” he slurred as he nuzzled into Reginnvaldr’s own neck. The growling chuckle he received in reply vibrated throughout Gavin’s body and made him groan and squeeze down in reflex. The string of curses Reginnvaldr let out had Gavin’s giggling and bearing down hard on his cock on purpose.</p><p>    “You’re playing a dangerous game there, omega-mine,” Reginnvaldr growled. “Only so much teasing an alpha can take before he takes to <em>biting</em> back.” </p><p>    Gavin smirked and replied with an airy detachment that he certainly didn’t feel. “Alpha-mine, I think if you look, you’ll find you’ve already <em>bitten back.</em>”</p><p>    “Oh you’re in for it now,” Reginnvaldr grumbled, the only warning Gavin received before his cock was being fondled to hardness again and Reginnvaldr’s long, calloused, <em>evil</em> fingers were pressing around Gavin’s hole, where he was still stretched tightly around Reginnvaldr’s knot. </p><p>    “Reginn-va-ah-ldr!” Gavin whined, the unexpected pleasure that punched through his body causing him to stutter out the name. Reginnvaldr pressed harder around Gavin’s hole, teasing the thin skin and abusing it unerringly with little caresses and circles. The warring pleasures spread Gavin thin; he was being filled so deeply he swore he could feel Reginnvaldr in his throat, and he was being teased so gently, so shallowly around his hole. It wasn’t until Reginnvaldr moaned that Gavin realized he was wiggling desperately back on to Reginnvaldr.</p><p>    “Think I can make you come a second time? Just from this?” Reginnvaldr asked, panting. “Just from having your cock stroked and your cunt teased?” The filthy words sent shivers down Gavin’s back. “What’s the matter little omega, too shy to reply?”</p><p>    Gavin turned his head and bit Reginnvaldr’s shoulder the very same second that he squeezed down on his cock. The resulting moan was very satisfying, but if anything it only spurred Reginnvaldr on further. “Cheeky brat.”</p><p>    “Y-you like it,” Gavin panted back, writhing against Reginnvaldr’s thick cock not just to tease, but to chase his own steadily building orgasm. Gods, if Gavin wiggled just right, he could feel Reginnvaldr grinding against his limits, deep and hard and overwhelming. Gavin bowed his back, allowing his head to fall limp onto Reginnvaldr’s shoulder and leaving his neck open for all the bruising kisses Reginnvaldr bestowed upon him.</p><p>    “If I make you come, we’ll be tied together even longer,” Reginnvaldr said, half a warning, half a desperate want. Gavin could feel his finger circling their joining, prodding against him, just a little harder and it would slip in, stretching Gavin even further.     </p><p>“Good,” Gavin panted back. He reached back to hold Reginnvaldr’s arm in place and bore back against his fingers, feeling one slip in alongside the thickness of his cock. Reginnvaldr nearly yelled at the increased tightness, growl deafening against Gavin’s throat. He ground up harder, punishing Gavin’s limits and working his cock furiously until the sensations were too much and Gavin had no choice but to come again, painting his furry chest white. His fluttering contractions forced another orgasm from Reginnvaldr and in the haziness, Gavin thought he could <em>feel</em> Reginnvaldr coming, flooding his inside with his hot seed, leaving no room inside him for anything that wasn’t <em>him</em>.</p><p>    The thought alone was enough to have Gavin spasming again, a second peak to his pleasure, one that spurned a similar response from Reginnvaldr. It was so hot, so deep. His stomach felt swollen, distended from the amount of come inside him, stopped up with that thick knot, not a bit to be wasted.</p><p>    “Fuck,” Reginnvaldr panted after a moment, breathing wild and tone reverent. “Gavin.”</p><p>    “Val,” Gavin agreed, voice equally shaky. The two breathed in unison, panting echoing in the cave, a lewd symphony to their passion. Once their breathing returned to normal, Gavin merely enjoyed the feeling of being held tightly against his mate. He traced idle designs on Reginnvaldr’s forearms. A little swirl here, a circle there. </p><p>    “You spectacular creature,” Reginnvaldr whispered to him, voice naught but a whisper. “I think I’ll keep you.” The words made Gavin smile and he showed it by tracing a little smile on Reginnvaldr’s arm. </p><p>    “You better,” Gavin said, just as quietly, but more seriously than Reginnvaldr’s teasing tone.</p><p>    “I will,” he vowed, hugging Gavin tighter to emphasize his promise. Gavin’s stomach gave an almighty rumble and the pair laughed. “I suppose that’s my cue to get some food in you, isn’t it?”</p><p>    Gavin purred in response, letting that be answer enough. The scant few instances that Reginnvaldr hand-fed him stood out like lightning across a black sky in Gavin’s mind. He shivered in anticipation. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr was gentle in his maneuvering, keeping Gavin close so as to not disrupt their connection. Thankfully, their sack filled with food was near enough that Reginnvaldr had only to stretch that <em>indecent</em> torso to reach it. Gavin sat upright on his lap, knot pressing pleasantly inside him, but offering a comfortable fullness instead of a pressing, burning need. </p><p>    He turned just enough to be able to look into Reginnvaldr’s eyes, which sparked a smile on the other man’s lips. He reached into the bag, and pulled out a cut of fatty, uncooked beef, wrapped carefully in cheesecloth. Gavin watched with rapt attention as Reginnvaldr speared the meat with a stick and held it carefully over the fire. The pair exchanged soft, chaste kisses as the fire eagerly licked at the meat, drops of fat sizzling in the flames. Before long, Reginnvaldr pulled the meat back and hugged his arms around Gavin to tear a piece of the still-bloody meat away.</p><p>    “Eat,” he commanded. And so eat Gavin did.</p><p>    There was no need to be polite this time, and so Gavin allowed his teeth to graze over Reginnvaldr’s fingers as he accepted the seared steak. He allowed himself to groan at the taste, the food myriad and complex like when he was in heat alone, but awe-inspiring and delicious instead of painful and overwhelming. Reginnvaldr fed him another piece of the meat, this one dripping with fat and blood and Gavin whined at the taste of meat mingling with the skin of Reginnvaldr’s fingers. He ran his tongue over the pads of Reginnvaldr’s fingers, feeling the grooves like little valleys and mountains, coated with salt and slick like some obscene fantasy.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr took a piece of meat for himself then, eating it without ceremony, like feeding himself was an afterthought instead of a necessity. Like all his sustenance could come from the sight of Gavin alone, rapturous in the experience of being fed.</p><p>    Gavin could feel Reginnvaldr’s knot begin to go down, but neither of them made a move to detach from one another. Instead, Reginnvaldr only ground himself in again, relishing in the mewls that slipped unbidden past Gavin’s bloodied lips. </p><p>    After the meat was gone, Reginnvaldr produced a bottle of mead from the bag, easily popping the waxed cork. Instead of, as Gavin expected, holding the bottle up for him, Reginnvaldr tilted the bottle into his mouth before pressing his mouth to Gavin’s, allowing the liquid to slid between their lips. Gavin felt his eyelids flutter close. The mead might have had him lost were it not for Reginnvaldr’s legs wrapped around him, his cock nestled inside him. The tartness of something fruity, like plum, mingled with the sweetness of honey and bite of alcohol. All with the underlying, intoxicating taste of Reginnvaldr. A sweetness that only made Gavin thirstier, so he opened his mouth and looked up at Reginnvaldr through his lashes hopefully.</p><p>    And Reginnvaldr obliged him, of course, for how could he not? Gavin purred, feeling heat begin to creep up on him again, and by the hardening of Reginnvaldr’s cock, he was not the only one once again at his nature’s whim.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr skewered another flank of meat, more beef, and let the fire lick at it until it was just soft enough to tear apart with his hands. He pressed a new piece, piping hot and dusted with salt to Gavin’s mouth, tracing his fingers along his lips after he’d accepted the food. Gods, Gavin thought as he moaned around the steak, he was feverish again, hot from more than the fire and the seared, bloody meat. He ground down insistently on Reginnvaldr’s cock, relishing in the feeling of it twitching inside him, swelling to full hardness and pressing against his limits once again. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr growled and nearly abandoned their meal to thrust into Gavin again, but Gavin’s whining plea of “More?” had him reaching to tear at the meat instead. He alternated it with sips of mead, poured straight from his mouth and Gavin was <em>melting</em>. He was dizzy from the mead and from the taste of Reginnvaldr flooding his mouth with every new sip, full from the meat and the hardness within him. Reginnvaldr fed him another piece of steak with difficulty, and it was only then Gain noticed he was bouncing on Reginnvaldr’s cock with a gusto reserved for whores and beasts. </p><p>    What a good alpha, Gavin thought through the haze of his heat, feeding me even while he fucks me. An alpha like that deserves a reward. </p><p>    Though it pained him to stop, and was almost intolerable to dismount from that glorious cock and hear Reginnvaldr’s growl of annoyance, Gavin did anyways and slid to his hands and knees, arching his back dramatically as his nature demanded and moving his hips in little circles. An invitation.</p><p>    An invitation that was well accepted if the speed at which Reginnvaldr reentered him, burying himself to the hilt was any indication. The air was forced from Gavin’s lungs as Reginnvaldr pounded deeper, deeper inside him. Gods he was so deep, the angle more severe in this position. Each thrust punched the air out of Gavin in breathy little moans. Quickly, his arms were too weak from pleasure to support his body and so he fell to his elbows. </p><p>    An even deeper angle, deeper than when he’d ridden Reginnvaldr, so deep it was almost painful, Gavin’s limits were battered relentlessly until he was certain Reginnvaldr had broken past them, carved a new place for himself, ruining Gavin for anyone else. The thought sent a thrill through Gavin and he moaned, arching his back further and allowing Reginnvaldr to have his way.</p><p>    Quickly, Gavin could feel his orgasm building. He whined, loud and insistent and felt only better when Reginnvaldr draped himself over him, shielding him from the world. “Bite me,” Reginnvaldr demanded, words garbled with growls. “I want you to <em>bite</em> me.”</p><p>    Gavin rose his bleary eyes to the side where he could see Reginnvaldr, hunched over him, neck on full display. Vaguely Gavin marveled at the trust and devotion Reginnvaldr’s command held, more pressingly, he felt an ache unlike any other in his teeth, cascading down to his gums, to his jaw. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr’s thrusts turned sloppy, harder, punching the air from Gavin’s lungs, and that’s when Gavin craned his neck, shifted his torso, and bit Reginnvaldr until his mouth was occupied only by his flesh.</p><p>    When Gavin returned to himself, despite feeling like years passed in his orgasm, the knot still hard and throbbing inside him suggested it was less than twenty minutes. The ache in his jaw and discomfort in his neck, however, suggested it was longer than five. </p><p>    Gingerly, Gavin detached himself from Reginnvaldr’s skin. He’d bitten the space between his neck and his shoulder, a good place to bite, now that Gavin had the mind to consider its location. Different though the north may be, Gavin couldn’t recall ever seeing an alpha with a mating bite on display. Best to keep it hidden beneath clothing.</p><p>    “Val?” he tried, wincing at the scratchiness of his voice. He hadn’t realized how loudly he’d been moaning until now. “You okay?”</p><p>    The muffled laugh from the man pressed into his back reassured him. “I think I’m supposed to be asking you that,” he said.</p><p>    Gavin hummed and slowly moved until he was more comfortably situated beneath Reginnvaldr, his mate a reassuring weight atop him. Night had fallen outside, the howls of distant wolves and eerie calls of elk ready to stud felt so distant when compared to the bubble of warmth and sex they’d cultivated around themselves. Gavin wiggled to feel the comfort of Reginnvaldr’s weight anew and giggled at the huff he got in exchange.</p><p>    And so it went. Sex blurred together with hand-feeding and quick trips for basic needs and firewood. Their scents mixed together so thoroughly that Gavin could no longer remember what Reginnvaldr had smelled like before his own scent had wormed its way in. </p><p>⁂</p><p>    When the two finally emerged from the cave, both sporting an embarrassing amount of marks and love bites on their necks and torsos, it was nearing midday, four days later. Gavin squinted against the brightness and nuzzled into Reginnvaldr’s side. Now that he was fully cognizant again, he could see that they were really, quite close to Ribe, quite unlike the remote, otherworldly cocoon he’d imagined in the cave.</p><p>    The pair made their way back to Ribe proper in companionable silence. The hum of energy that seems to always linger under every interaction between them felt calmed. Less of an anxious anticipation and more of a gentle reassurance. It was almost like a faerie tale, Gavin mused, a magic tying them together, rendering them inseparable.</p><p>    A few teasing heckles and wolf whistles greeted the pair upon entering Ribe proper. Likely not helped by Reginnvaldr’s ruined tunic only half on his frame like a coat or the matching bright red bite marks. Funnily, Gavin only felt the smallest bit of bashfulness at the heckling. Being next to Reginnvaldr, finally mated, was reassuring enough to bear the brunt of his embarrassment. </p><p>    “I see you were able to rebuild the great hall,” Reginnvaldr observed as the pair drew closer. “It looks good.”</p><p>    “Oh, yeah! Obviously we weren’t able to get everything right, and if there’s anything we need to fix, we can do that now that you’re all home, but I figured it’d be best to get it back up as soon as possible,” at Reginnvaldr’s inquisitive look, Gavin continued, gesturing with their joined hands towards the hall. “It’s like a symbol, ‘innit? It’s where the king sleeps, it’s where the feasts are held. It’s got purpose beyond shelter. People can look up and see that, even though everything else is ruined, the hall is there.”</p><p>    Gavin bit his lip at Reginnvaldr’s startled look, not quite feeling shy—they were too close for that now—but feeling a bit silly. “I know it’s foolish, but that’s kind of how I saw—” Gavin was cut off by Reginnvaldr’s lips pressed upon his in a gentle, but firm kiss. </p><p>    “You’re incredible,” he breathed, pressing another chaste kiss to Gavin’s lips. “You’re incredible, and brilliant, and all mine.” The last part, said with a slight growl had Gavin’s omegean instincts preening, too fucked out to do anything, but pleased nonetheless.</p><p>    “Let’s get inside, you dork.”</p><p>    They’d made it in approximately two steps before the whistling and heckling began, much more earnestly than the heckling from outside. Their friends, who must have just finished the <em>dagmál</em>, sat at the reconstructed great hall tables, all bearing teasing grins. Reginnvaldr waved them off, a light blush dusting his cheeks and Gavin was entranced at how good he made blushing look. </p><p>    “About fucking time!” Michael yelled, from his place on Geoff’s lap. “Did you even eat, or just knot the entire time?”</p><p>    “Michael no!” Gavin protested, laughter warping his words. He didn’t really have a good argument though, Michael was nearly right. </p><p>    “We’re glad you’re alright and mostly clothed,” Jack said with an eye roll, flicking Michael’s ear as he rose from the table and ignoring Geoff’s resulting laughter. “You two smell terrible, go bathe before we all pass out.” Despite his words, Jack drew closer, clapping Reginnvaldr on the shoulder and squishing Gavin into a one-armed hug. “I’m happy for you.”</p><p>    “Thanks Jack,” Gavin said, hugging him back. He was glad Jack was back, he’d missed him. There would be time to reacquaint later though, when Gavin no longer smelled of come and slick. </p><p>    They finally made their way to their rebuilt room. It was sparse, compared to the lavish quarters it had once been, but Reginnvaldr didn’t seem to notice. “Gavin,” he whispered. “I… I obviously didn’t have the mind to say it earlier, but I’m so proud of you.” Gavin glanced up at his mate from where he’d been retrieving their bathing basket. </p><p>    “What?”</p><p>    “You… managed to keep everyone alive and functional. You rebuilt Ribe from ashes and protected the clan. You fill me with awe every time I think about what you can do.”</p><p>    The words warmed Gavin from the inside and a purr erupted from his throat, completely unbidden. He stood up to the tips of his toes and kissed Reginnvaldr’s cheek. “At first I didn’t want to let you down. But then I didn’t want to let <em>them</em> down.” Reginnvaldr hummed and fixed Gavin with the fondest expression he’d ever seen. “Come on you sausage, Jack was right, we really do need to bathe.”</p><p>    He heard Reginnvaldr grumble something about liking the way Gavin smelled, but obediently followed to the bathhouse. Gavin privately agreed with him; they smelled like a heady combination of each other and sex. At least they could scent each other after the bath, Gavin mused. And possibly reapply the scent of sex too. </p><p>    It was a rare luxury to bathe in privacy, but it seemed like the gods were on their side today. The bathhouse was empty and Gavin wasted no time in ridding himself of his filthy clothes and sinking in to the warm of the springs. He watched with lazy eyes as Reginnvaldr shucked his own ruined clothing without hesitation.</p><p>    “You’re gorgeous,” Gavin said, and he meant it. Reginnvaldr was every bit a warrior king of legend. The power to swing an axe one handed, to ride for days without rest, to pick Gavin up and fuck him against the wall was written in the lines of his body. Thick muscle and fat making up an alpha perfectly honed for power. But he was gentle too. Oh those hands, deceptively soft despite the callouses. The tenderness with which he held Gavin, kissed his chin and the skin beneath his eyes.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr hummed and slipped into the water beside Gavin, hands moving to caress Gavin’s back. “That can’t be right,” he said. “I seem to distinctly remember <em>you</em> being the gorgeous one here.” </p><p>    Gavin rolled his eyes but offered no rebuttal. He knew the truth. He closed his eyes and leaned on Reginnvaldr’s shoulder. “Do you think it… y’know. That I caught?”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr’s hands kneaded into Gavin’s back, working out knots of stress and tension in the muscles. It felt wonderful and Gavin almost missed his reply. “Do I think you’re with child?” </p><p>    “Yeah.” Gavin wasn’t sure why the thought had him shy and nervous. He did like children, the few that he knew in Ribe anyways. Athie was always fun. But he didn’t know if he was ready to have a child himself, or if he would <em>ever</em> be ready. Or if he would even ever have a choice. Jack had mentioned that taking heat suppressing herbs for too long could hinder fertility and the memory of the foul tasting tinctures from his childhood were still readily available. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr took Gavin’s chin in hand and directed him until Gavin was faced with Reginnvaldr’s serious expression. “Gavin, I do want a child,” he said, voice quiet but strong. Intense. “I want a whole castle filled with them, but what matters most to me is your health, and safety, and what <em>you</em> want.” The hand holding his chin moved to cup Gavin’s face instead and Gavin gave in to the desire to nuzzle it. “If you’re with child, and you want to be, then I’m happy. If you’re with child and you don’t want to be, then we can talk to Stefi about a specific blend of herbs.” By Reginnvaldr’s tone and the look in his eyes, Gavin knew what herbs he was referring to. </p><p>    “Pennyroyal,” he said and Reginnvaldr’s nod confirmed it. “And if I’m not?” The words were quiet, squeaked out instead of asked. </p><p>    “And if you’re not pregnant then that means I still have you all to myself,” Reginnvaldr said, a teasing growl to his voice. He grinned and dragged Gavin through the water until he was situated on his lap. “And I’ll just have to keep fucking you won’t I?”</p><p>    “Val!” Gavin groaned. He was wrung out, but his cock made a valiant effort to twitch to hardness. “Gonna be the death of me, honestly.”</p><p>    “Mmm, I don’t think so, I’m not done with you yet,” Reginnvaldr said, laughing into Gavin’s back when he whined. Gavin felt a gentle kiss press into his back and sighed in contentment at the sensation. The kisses continued, Reginnvaldr’s beard scratching pleasantly down his back as little kisses peppered his skin. </p><p>    Eventually, their fingers began to wrinkle and their stomachs began to growl. Washing together was an intimate, if quick, task that Gavin swore they’d have to revisit sometime. Reginnvaldr’s fingers expertly soaping his hair was a marvelous sensation that Gavin already wanted more of, and rubbing Reginnvaldr down with the skin stone and washing cloth was an excellent excuse to grope him. But by Reginnvaldr’s half hard cock and teasing expression, Gavin wasn’t at all stealthy in it. </p><p>    Freshly washed and clothed in clean linen, Gavin finally felt human for the first time in nearly a week. And what’s more, with Reginnvaldr by his side, he felt <em>whole</em> for the first time in months. </p><p>    They made their way back to the hall, Gavin rambling about all the foods he wanted to eat and Reginnvaldr teasing him for the breadth of his stomach. Neither noticed the silence that greeted them as they entered the hall.</p><p>    There, in the great hall, sitting at the bench beside Reginnvaldr’s chair, was an alpha man with a dusty brown beard, braided hair, and distorted legs. “Reginnvaldr, you great ugly bastard, you didn’t think it important to tell your own brothers about running off and mating some Anglian omega!?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Y'all have no idea how long I've been waiting to intro Val's family. We'll see some others show up too, so stay tuned ;)</p><p>Can you believe there's no historical shenanigans for this chapter? That's what we get for having Gav and Val bang the entire time smh. There's no educational value in this chapter. For shame!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again everyone! We're back with another chapter. Do note the increase in future chapters. My lovely beta <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a> pointed out that several 10k+ chapters back to back was absolutely bonkers on my part and rightfully divided some of the coming chapters into multiple parts. So I present to you chapter 17 (part one) &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 17</p><p>
  <em>    There, in the great hall, sitting at the bench beside Reginnvaldr’s chair, was an alpha man with a dusty brown beard, braided hair, and oddly shaped legs. “Reginnvaldr, you great ugly bastard, you didn’t think it important to tell your own brothers about running off and mating some Anglian omega!?”</em>
</p><p>    “Ivar!” Reginnvaldr yelled, joy and shock equally prevalent in his voice. “I’ll have you know father and mother were married when she bore me and I’ll remind you that you were off raiding whoever looked at you wrongly for the past three years, so forgive me if tracking you down wasn’t on my list of priorities!” </p><p>    “You ugly squealing bastard! You churl of churls, you war-wary, bench-ornament! Letting your own brothers listen to your gossip second and third hand! Fighting in Anglian wars and stealing away little waif omegas! Were I a lesser man, I would beat you senseless!”</p><p>    Gavin watched the exchange with wide eyes. Ivar, Reginnvaldr’s brother, the one without any bones, sitting here in the flesh and apparently incredibly angry. He cast a nervous glance at Reginnvaldr, but couldn’t discern his emotions, nor could he scent any distress.</p><p>    “You know Ivar,” Reginnvaldr lashed back, and Gavin distantly recognized his increased enunciation, the almost poetic tone he took on. It wasn’t dissimilar to when Reginnvaldr recited stories. “That if you and I should contend with wounding words, I’ll be richer in my replies when you say too much.”</p><p>    It was silent for a beat, and then Ivar began laughing. Great, raspy, belly laughs filling the hall and bewildering Gavin even further. Ivar wiped away the tears that had sprung to his eyes in light of his amusement and settled down enough to wave Reginnvaldr over. “Come give me a hug you idiot of a brother.”  </p><p>    “Thought that title always belonged to Hvítserk,” Reginnvaldr mumbled, bending to give Ivar what would have been a bone-crushing hug, had the man bones to begin with. The pair parted and Reginnvaldr beamed at Gavin, waving him over.</p><p>    “My brother of debatable charm, Ivar. Ivar, this is my <em>fœða-ást</em>, Gavin. He ran Ribe while I was away and has even led a raid. You cannot find a finer omega, nor a finer man anywhere in the world.” Gavin did his best not to blush at Ryan calling him <em>beloved.</em></p><p>    Ivar looked Gavin up and down, shrewd eyes squinting as if to see all the details of Gavin’s person better. Curiously enough, the appraisal didn’t give Gavin the same discomfort of when Eyesteinn had ogled him at the feast so many moons ago. His mating with Reginnvaldr had soothed many of his worries for one. And Ivar’s gaze felt  more observational than licentious.</p><p>    “You know how to fight?” Ivar asked Gavin gruffly. Gavin restrained himself from rolling his eyes.</p><p>    “I know how to fight, and how to farm, and even how to put on my shoes by myself, I’m a regular wonder,” he deadpanned. Alphas and their notions of omegas had no place here, Gavin didn’t care if he was Reginnvaldr’s brother. If Ivar thought he’d be some meek little waif, he had another thing coming.</p><p>    Ivar cackled, that same raspy booming laughter and Gavin glanced at Reginnvaldr for a clue. Reginnvaldr’s soft smile offered no insight to his brother’s strange behavior, and Gavin didn’t get a chance to ask before Ivar was patting him hard on the back.</p><p>    “Oh I like him, Reginnvaldr. He’s going to keep you on your toes and put you in your place!”</p><p>    “He already has,” Reginnvaldr said, just sappy and goofy enough for Gavin to feel like he was melting. He couldn’t help himself from nuzzling Reginnvaldr’s shoulder, despite the action being stereotypical of a newly mated omega. Well, if Ivar couldn’t understand that Gavin could be a respectable <em>yfir</em>-<em>fœða </em>and a gooey mess for his mate, he could shove it.</p><p>    “Bah!” Ivar huffed, sounding a great deal older than his dark beard suggested. “You’ve become a soft old man. Tell me, is that why Eyesteinn the cow king still breathes? Too soft to run him down with your spear?”</p><p>    The atmosphere turned serious at that and Gavin raised an eyebrow at Ivar. No matter their blood relation, Gavin would find a way to break the bones of a boneless man if he said anything further. </p><p>    “Well I couldn’t bring myself to have all the fun,” Reginnvaldr said drolly. “Thought you would appreciate me sharing the battle with you.” Ivar nodded in approval. </p><p>    “Good man! A right, smelly bastard if I ever knew one, but a good man. Mother always had her reasons for pampering you so.”</p><p>    With a good-natured roll of his eyes, Reginnvaldr took his seat at the head of the table. The chair was undecorated and much simpler than the beautiful carved Roman chair that burned in the fire, but still obviously a position of power compared to the benches lining the tables. “Please sit,” Reginnvaldr said. Gavin took his customary stool beside Reginnvaldr and watched as his friends took their own seats, smiling at the first sight of a filled hall in ages.</p><p>    Lindsay and her serving girls were quick to bring out refreshments despite the early hour for which Gavin was immensely grateful. He was famished. Reginnvaldr fed him the little bits of cheese and fruit first, even though Gavin was certain Reginnvaldr was even hungrier than he was. After all, Val had been doing most of the work during their retreat, and had been more preoccupied with feeding—and fucking—Gavin than feeding himself. Gavin purred in thanks for his selflessness, smiling when Reginnvaldr’s face lit up in pride. </p><p>    “Aren’t you two just the perfect picture of domesticity,” Ivar said, voice gruff but friendly enough. “The good little alpha king feeding his good little omega queen. Bah!” For his words, Ivar didn’t seem particularly upset and Reginnvaldr remained relaxed and open, so Gavin didn’t fret too much. </p><p>    “You’ll understand if you ever quit your wild ways and settle down with someone,” Reginnvaldr said, shooting a fond look to Gavin. “The right person can make you do things you never imagined yourself doing, bend you in ways you’ve never bent.”</p><p>    “I don’t care to hear about the ways you’ve been bending, Reginnvaldr,” Ivar said and Gavin snorted in amusement. Jack too had laughed at his words and Gavin shot him a grin. “Are you sure?” Gavin asked coyly. “He can bend in some particularly interesting ways.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr pinched his arm in retaliation for his cheek, clearing his throat and moving away from the topic despite the red still dusting his cheeks. “You’ve timed your visit well, Ivar. Just four days ago I returned home with our war party, and just today, Gavin and I have returned from our mating. The feast is liable to be massive.” Gavin hadn’t considered that. The thought of such a feast had his mouth watering despite the modest fare before them. The preparations alone must have been outstanding. </p><p>    He was sure if anyone appreciated the extra days Reginnvaldr and Gavin spent in the cave together, it was Lindsay. She’d have much more time to pull off such a feast than the mere hours from when the war party initially returned. It was quite serendipitous timing, if Gavin said so himself.</p><p>    “Aye, I always did have a keen sense of time,” Ivar said. “Why just four months ago, I tackled a Frankish man from his steed while blindfolded and drunk, just to prove I could.” That had the air of an alpha’s boast to it, and Gavin rolled his eyes, turning to make faces at Reginnvaldr only to find his mate smirking.</p><p>    “Why that’s nothing, three months ago, I speared a hawk clean through from a hundred yards away in the dark,” he said, affecting the same tone. “I suspect your Frankish man and his horse were lamer than they were loud for you to best them.” Gavin raised his eyebrows and looked to Jack for a clue as to why his mate was suddenly spouting alphaic nonsense like he’d just popped his first knot.</p><p>    “They’re <em>flyting</em>,” Jack whispered. “Geoff gets into it sometimes if he’s in a mood. They’ll boast and insult each other until one of them wins. The Ragnarssons are notorious for <em>flyting</em> each other every chance they get.”</p><p>    “Weird poetic bastards,” grumbled Michael from Jack’s other side. Gavin huffed his amusement and returned his attention to the <em>flyting</em> contest, still bemused at the idea. </p><p>    “And I’m sure that you missed that hawk, for we all know your <em>spear</em> can’t hit a single target, or are you hiding dozens of children under your floorboards?” Ivar paused here to exaggerate the motions of looking for the supposed children. “I, however, split a giant’s head from his shoulders not two months ago, with naught but a butterknife and my little finger.”</p><p>    “I’m not surprised that you used a butterknife, brother,” Reginnvaldr said, smile wide and bleeding into his words, enunciated and precise as they were. “For we all know you can’t lift a weapon heavier. And I suppose the creature must have seemed giant to <em>you</em>, so short you are. But I tell you, one month ago I let an injured man use my horse instead, and I kept pace with the galloping beast without breaking a sweat.”</p><p>    This was utterly nonsensical, but Gavin would be lying it he said it wasn’t amusing. Each new boast and rebuttal had him cackling, joined by laughter from others nearby. It was a strange comedy theatre to be sure, but delightful. </p><p>    “I bet your horse was grateful for carrying the man,” Ivar said seriously, stroking his short beard. “It must have been a welcome change from carrying around your fat ass day in and day out.” Gavin snorted and affixed an innocent expression to his face when Reginnvaldr pouted down at him. “Though I tell you, just one week ago, I decided to come see my bastard of a brother. My ship was too heavy with gold and silver from my successes, so I swam instead. I reached land four days before my ship did.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr huffed his own breath of amusement and shook his head. “Why brother,” he said mournfully, clutching a hand to his chest. “I never knew your boats were so poorly constructed and so slow so as to be outpaced by a snail. Tell me, did you float the entire way, or did the sea take pity on you and hurry you along?” Without waiting for a reply, Reginnvaldr grinned wickedly and delivered his own boast. “I would have been quicker to greet you, but just one day ago, I was so deeply knotted in my omega that I made him forget how to say any words that weren’t ‘please’ or ‘alpha.’”</p><p>    “<em>Reginnvaldr</em>!” Gavin exclaimed, face immediately heating. In the same moment, Ivar made an exaggerated gagging noise and waved Reginnvaldr’s words off like they would stick to him otherwise. “Alright! Alright, you’ve won. I don’t want to hear about your marriage activities, you great oaf.”</p><p>    Their audience laughed and applauded the outcome, some calling for more, others delighting in Reginnvaldr’s victory. Reginnvaldr took it all with the humility Gavin had come to associate with the man, but still eyed him particularly when Reginnvaldr turned his way.</p><p>    “I think what’s private between mates ought to <em>stay</em> private between mates, don’t you agree alpha-mine?” Gavin asked sweetly, too many teeth on display to be properly friendly. Reginnvaldr looked appropriately cowed and gave a meek “yes, beloved,” before earnestly offering Gavin a raspberry. </p><p>    Gavin rolled his eyes but took the peace offering, devilishly sucking on Reginnvaldr’s fingers when he was done and delighting in the way his alpha’s eyes darkened in want at the action. Gavin let the fingers go with a delicate kitten lick and a smirk, turning away to engage Jack in conversation and leaving Reginnvaldr to his frustration. It served his alpha right for embarrassing him in front of everyone.</p><p>    “Jack, how was the campaign?” he asked. Despite the time he and Reginnvaldr had spent together, they hadn’t spoken of anything of substance in that time, and Gavin really did need to know how the war was going. Especially now, being able to rightfully claim the title of <em>yfir-fœða</em> as Reginnvaldr’s mate.</p><p>    “Troubling,” Jack replied. “Eyesteinn’s dread cow has the ability to lay waste to entire fields of crops. We were lucky he brought only his men when he attacked us. We passed through a village far north of here, where you could smell the corpses from miles away. We spent a day there, piling the dead for a pyre. Nasty business, that.</p><p>    “As for Eyesteinn himself, we encountered him thrice, all without that cow of his thank the gods. I’d like to say we weakened him, but it’s like for every man he loses, he gains two more. We need far more than our numbers now to even hope at standing a chance against him. As it is, we’re exhausted, starved, and perfect targets all nice and safe at home.”</p><p>    “Well you’ll have all my men,” Ivar said immediately. “And I imagine we can convince Bjorn to get off his lazy ass and join us. Hvítserk will be beside himself that we even thought to contact him, the damned puppy dog. I’ve got two hundred men with me and three thousand more only awaiting my command. I reckon Bjorn and Hvítserk can scrape together at least a thousand each. How many would fight for you if you asked it?” This he directed to a contemplative looking Reginnvaldr.</p><p>    “Assuming they all agreed—and I don’t know that they would—I suspect anywhere from five to seven thousand,” Reginnvaldr said slowly, as if testing the numbers out. Gavin felt his jaw drop at the given sums. They had some scant five hundred people in all of Ribe. He couldn’t imagine five thousand more on top of them. Where would they all <em>fit</em>? And where on earth did Reginnvaldr gather such staunch allies?</p><p>    At Gavin’s disbelieving expression, Reginnvaldr gave a self-deprecating smile. “Not all are allies of mine, I must admit. A good few thousand would only answer my call because of who my father and mother are.” </p><p>    “Numbers are numbers you fool,” Ivar argued. “And when those numbers are loyal fighters, you take their loyalty no matter if it came from mother’s name or from your scraping the horse shit from their boots.”</p><p>    For all that Ivar’s words left much to be desired in their poetic value, Gavin was inclined to agree. Even with a magical cow—and wasn’t that still just the oddest creature to make magic—ten or so thousand fighters would be a hard sum to overpower. And what’s more, Reginnvaldr was a Ragnarsson, descended from Oðinn. That had to count for <em>something</em>.</p><p>    “How long would it take to mobilize so many men?” Gavin wondered out loud. He mentally considered their stores, their crop output, how much they kept preserved in the storehouses. They could feed perhaps a thousand, but any more would be impossible. Even sending little raiding parties out for food or little trading parties to barter off their pilfered trinkets couldn’t possibly feed ten thousand. Why, the whole of Bamburgh—the castle itself out to the farthest fief plot—barely numbered three thousand. Some ten thousand people packed together, all demanding their meals and their ale, was mind boggling.</p><p>    “I’d suspect at least two weeks for me once they’ve received summons,” Ivar said, scratching his beard. “Let’s give Bjorn and Hvítserk a week more than that. Reginnvaldr, what say you?”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr took a long sip of mead and stared at the cup pensively when he finished. “Just sending summons,” he said. “I’d say two weeks for those closest, maybe three for our southern allies.</p><p>    “But I suspect with just sending summons and a rider, we’d get maybe half of those seven or so thousand, if even that. I think if I were to ride myself and ask their aid, we’d get maybe five thousand, but at the price of at least a month, likely more.” He drummed his fingers on the table, his brow wrinkled in stiff consideration. Gavin reached a hand under the table and gently squeezed Reginnvaldr’s bouncing knee, smiling when the jittering of his legs calmed. “I think we ought to send word to mother. She’s well respected, she’s the closest living connection to Oðinn, and I know not a single man who wouldn’t eagerly lay his life down at her request.” </p><p>    Ivar shook his head. “She’s old now, Reginnvaldr. You’re telling me you can’t find men loyal to you without mummy’s help? Bah! You’re war-wary, says I!”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr growled, but Ivar remained completely unaffected, merely raising a bushy eyebrow in response. “This is a blood feud,” Reginnvaldr said, his words clear despite the growl lurking beneath. “Are you so caught up on your own sense of rightness that you’ll sacrifice your bothers by rushing into a war like a pup?” Reginnvaldr shook his head and rubbed a hand over his beard. “No, we’ll send an envoy to mother and ask that she attend the next <em>þing</em>. It’ll be easier to request aid that way, than prostrating ourselves a hundred times over the next few months.”</p><p>    “We best send men immediately to your southern allies then,” Gavin mused. “So that they have ample time to travel here.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr nodded. “An excellent point. I’ll be sure to send an envoy south first thing tomorrow morning, I suppose we ought to prepare for the <em>þing</em>. Send word to mother and—“</p><p>    “Excuse my intrusion <em>yfir-maðr,</em> but the fine garments are finally done, I was told to tell you immediately,” a young, nervous-looking apprentice interrupted. </p><p>    Despite the confusion on his face, Reginnvaldr began to speak. “That’s all very well, put them in my chambers I suppose, I’ll—“ </p><p>    It was Gavin’s turn to interrupt. “Excellent, thank you. Will you deliver the ceremonial set to the priestess and ensure the others are delivered to their recipients. I trust you’ve kept track of which go to who.” The apprentice nodded vigorously.  “Good. Do you have an estimate on when <em>yfir-maðr</em> Reginnvaldr’s new tunics will be complete? We’re planning for an excursion to the <em>þing </em>and he’ll need to wear his absolute best. I want the finest set complete within the week.”</p><p>    “Of course!” The apprentice said, just a touch too loudly and a touch too excitedly considering they were indoors and only a foot from each other. “I’ll tell mistress and get the clothes to their proper owners.” Reginnvaldr gave Gavin a pleasantly surprised look. “You had new clothing made?”</p><p>    Feeling self-conscious, Gavin hunched his shoulders a bit. “I-we needed the basics after everything got burned,” he said, trying for the life of him to sound confident. He wasn’t sure it was working. “So we got that squared away, but I realized we’d need formal clothes again eventually, for diplomacy if nothing else, so I set aside some of the money we made from the raid for cloth.” </p><p>    Gavin fidgeted at their silence. They must think me a foolish little omega, Gavin thought, more concerned with trinkets and clothing than taking care of people. He set his jaw and made direct eye contact with Ivar across the table. He was not going to be judged for his decisions, he was the one that oversaw Ribe while Reginnvaldr was at war, and toss them to the Jǫrmungandr if they had anything to say about how!</p><p>    “That’s brilliant,” Reginnvaldr said, surprising Gavin out of his stony stare. “I wouldn’t have thought of that in a thousand years, not until I wore my tunic to shreds and there were holes in my shoes.”</p><p>    “That’s because he’s smarter than you,” Ivar said, matter-of-factly. </p><p>    Gavin blinked, trying not to show how unbalanced he was from the praise. He’d been embarrassed, thought himself a petty child for ordering those tunics back during Jól. He was glad that wasn’t the case. He cleared his throat. “In any case, they’ll help for the <em>þing</em>.”</p><p>    “Well,” Reginnvaldr said, shifting a hand to trace patterns on Gavin’s back. “There’s half the battle right there. We’re ready for the <em>þing </em>in terms of dress. All that’s left to do is to write mother.” He turned to Gavin and smiled charmingly. “Dear, would you show Ivar around Ribe? I imagine he’d like some fresh air before he keels over from old age.”</p><p>    Ivar snorted. “I’d like some fresh air away from your stink, that’s what I’d like!” </p><p>⁂</p><p>    “I’m afraid Val, er, Reginnvaldr, hasn’t told me much about you,” Gavin said, leading Ivar through the farms and smithy. The men carrying him remained ever-silent throughout the excursion which was a bit unsettling, but Gavin assumed they were used to their task and kept quiet about it. </p><p>    “I’m not surprised,” Ivar snorted. “He’s notorious for focusing on one thing and forgetting the rest. Bit like a child that way.” They reached the sparring ring and Ivar waved to the men to set him down on the bench nearby. “You seem to have a good head on your shoulders though, don’t you? Still too scrawny.”</p><p>    Gavin huffed a laugh and joined Ivar on the bench, a respectable distance away, but closer than he might a stranger. They were family after all, no need for perfect manners. “If you think I’m scrawny now, you should have seen me when I first arrived. Couldn’t even lift a shield back then.”</p><p>    “And you can now?” Ivar asked, something scrutinizing to his voice that had Gavin straightening up. “You mentioned a raid, but there isn’t much use for a shield against an old monk.”</p><p>    The memory of the raid, and his actions within it were not longer as painful as they once were, but Gavin still grimaced. “Yes, I can use a shield,” he said, deciding to stick to answering Ivar’s question and ignore the comment about the raid. “It took one of our warriors a good month to train me out of resting it on my knee though.”</p><p>    Ivar chuckled. “Good lad. You know, he’ll never tell you this, but when Reginnvaldr was a pup, we sparred and he was so eager to prove his strength that he knocked his own tooth out trying to pick up an axe.”</p><p>    Gavin snorted. “That’s pretty close to how I lost one of mine too, I tripped while holding an shield.” He endured Ivar’s huff of laughter with a smile of his own on his face. </p><p>    “You planning on children?” Ivar asked. It was a reasonable question to ask of the mate of his brother, but it still made Gavin squirm. </p><p>    “I’m not sure,” he confessed slowly. There wasn’t really a way for him to avoid the question, direct as it was. And what’s more, he didn’t want to put Reginnvaldr in an uncomfortable position later if Gavin lied. “I know Reginnvaldr wants them, and I suppose I do too, but I… My father back in Northumbria had me take herbs that may make it an impossibility.” He did not chance a glance at Ivar’s reaction to that, choosing instead to focus on people working one of nearby the farms. Gavin tried to remember that his place was here, as yfir-fœða, no matter Ivar’s opinion on the matter of his children.</p><p>    “It doesn’t matter Ratatoskr’s ass to me if you want kids or not,” Ivar said, and like everything he said, it was blunt and honest. “Couldn’t care less about them myself, let alone the process to getting them.” He huffed a laugh to himself. “No, that sort of thing has never interested me, I ask only because it’s polite to do so.”</p><p>    That was a relief. Gavin nodded at Ivar in thanks, but left it at that. He didn't seem the sentimental type. “No mates or pretty omegas to court?”</p><p>    Ivar laughed his raspy laugh at that and snapped his fingers. His bearers were immediately at his side, lifting him so that they could continue their walk. “The gods have cursed me if there is! No, I have no interest in courting, no interest in children, and most certainly no interest in fucking.” Gavin snorted at the matter-of-fact way Ivar spewed rudeness. “I’ll consider my life well filled if I die in battle, with a sword in my hand and my killer’s blood on my face.”</p><p>    “An admirable way to go,” Gavin said. They were nearly back to the great hall, and part of Gavin mourned the brevity of their walk. Ivar was an interesting conversationalist and quick-witted to the point of being disarming.</p><p>    “A typical alpha’s typical dream-death,” Ivar replied, dry humor in his voice. “From me, to Reginnvaldr, to our father, to every fat idiot with a knot. I suspect you’ll find few alphas who don’t wish to die honorably in battle and spend the rest of eternity in Valhöll, feasting on Sæhrímnir and drinking from Heiðrún. Battle, and bacon, and mead for the afterlife sounds like a plan to me.” </p><p>    “Well I can’t give you an eternity of it,” Gavin said as he led them back into the hall. “But I can promise as much bacon and mead as you can eat tonight at least. A feast that welcomes the warriors back <em>and</em> celebrates your arrival? You’ll be lucky if you can get away while your men can still carry you.”</p><p>    Ivar cackled at that and Gavin released a breath of relief that he hadn’t offended by mentioning Ivar’s bonelessness. “I’m going to hold you to that, omega queen,” Ivar faux-threatened, pointing a finger at Gavin. “And if I don’t eat myself sick, you’ll have to spar with me tomorrow.”</p><p>    That, Gavin could do, though he suspected Ivar would have him on his ass with a few bruises before he could blink. He agreed nonetheless. “I’ll see to it that Lindsay puts the tastiest cuts nearest your plate then.”</p><p>    “Oh no, that’s your honor. Or did you forget this was mainly a feast to celebrate your shiny new mating?” </p><p>    “Ah, that’s right,” Gavin said. He couldn’t decide if he was pleased at the attention, proud at publicly celebrating their mating, or if he was embarrassed at the thought of everyone drinking and feasting to his being knotted. Perhaps a bit of both. Gavin tried to focus on the thought of good food and drink rather than the celebration of his mating.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr wasn't in the hall. Ivar saw no problem with this and made himself comfortable in Reginnvaldr’s usual seat. Gavin sat in Jack’s normal seat instead of directly next to Ivar in his customary stool, that was a luxury he would only give Reginnvaldr. Ivar took a look around the hall, its walls still bare from where they had once been draped with pelts and decorated with trinkets.</p><p>    “You ran Ribe while he was away,” Ivar commented, more of a statement than a question. Nevertheless, he waited for Gavin to nod before continuing. “Have much practice with ruling, do you?”</p><p>    “Not particularly,” Gavin replied. “I was a third son in Northumbria. We’re usually reserved for the church.”</p><p>    Ivar studied him, face stoic. He was not harsh when he spoke, but exact, militant and dissecting. “My brother kidnapped you from your home, sailed you some hundred miles and then rode with you some hundred more, and you’re still here. Some would call that foolish.”</p><p>    “Perhaps,” Gavin said after a beat. He opened his mouth to say more, but closed it instead. He was a long ways away from fretting over what he should and shouldn’t feel about how he and Reginnvaldr met. In some ways, he supposed Ivar was right, he supposed the painful, still-sharp memory of Ita the serving girl were right. Reginnvaldr had taken him from Castle Bamburgh. But they were also wrong.</p><p>    “You don’t strike me as a fool, Gavin of Northumbria.” Ivar replied. Gavin gave a half-smile at Ivar’s approximation of a compliment. </p><p>    “I’m Gavin Reginnvaldr-fœða now,” he said. “Or Gavin of Ribe if you’d rather. <em>Yfir-fœða</em> and mate to Reginnvaldr Ragnarsson.” It was the first time he’d said it out loud like this, and a thrill of electricity, butterflies like a lovestruck youth tingled through his stomach. It had been many, many months since he’d considered Castle Bamburgh home, since he’d considered his place here political and distressing. </p><p>    “A young omega lad dressing in northern clothes, and forgoing shoes, and dancing to the beat of Oðinn’s spells. Can’t imagine this is the life your father would have wanted for you.”</p><p>    Gavin wished this conversation had ended before it began. He didn’t want the spectacular fest this evening to be tainted with old bitterness and memories of pain. “No I can’t imagine it is,” he agreed.</p><p>    “I know what they do to omega men in Anglia, in Rome, in Francia,” Ivar said, leaning back and studying Gavin with those shrewd, hazy eyes. “I imagine this is far more life than you ever would have achieved back there.”</p><p>    He was right, and it soothed the phantom hurt that echoed in his chest whenever he thought of Northumbria or of his family. Compared to the electric, raw intensity of the north, Gavin hadn’t lived much in Northumbria. The years after he presented passed like mundane dreams, grey landscapes and passionless dawdling. Whatever amount of life he could have managed there would be far outshined on even the dreariest, most difficult day in Ribe. </p><p>    “I would have been killed the moment my being omegean was revealed,” Gavin said quietly. “And it would have happened eventually, we make mistakes, all of us. Myself more than others.”</p><p>    “It’s sensible to stay here then,” Ivar said. “For the preservation of your life if nothing else. Though I imagine you’d find it in yourself to return home when it suits you.” Gavin felt something like fury bloom in his chest at Ivar’s words and implication. It was a cheap explanation for the joy he’d found here. He sat up straighter and looked Ivar dead in the eyes.</p><p>    “I stayed here because the taste of mead on my tongue far outweighed the bitter wine of communion. I stayed because the feeling of a shield in my grip and an axe in my hand made me feel freer than a distant view of Bamburgh behind stone walls.</p><p>    “I stayed because not once has a member of this clan, of this town, looked down on me for anything. Whether it be my omegean nature, or how poorly I weed a field, or how long it took me to learn how to speak your tongue.” Gavin heard a slight growl to his own words, could feel his face heating with an angry blush. “I stayed here because for the first time in my life, I felt safe. I felt loved. No amount of homesickness would change that.” He raised his chin, squared his shoulders. “Ribe <em>is</em> my home. I’m going nowhere.”</p><p>    Ivar nodded, something akin to respect in his eyes, and he bowed his head in submission, an act that shocked Gavin out of his glare. Like Reginnvaldr—and most every other alpha in Ribe—Ivar didn’t seem to have any hangups about appropriate behavior for alphas, but there was a difference between not being a sexist and openly submitting to an omega. </p><p>    “Forgive me,” Ivar said, finally raising his head, but keeping his eyes lowered. “I spoke hastily. Believe me, there is no doubt in my mind that you belong here, leading your clan and ensuring my idiot brother doesn’t die of dysentery before the age of forty.”</p><p>    Gavin snorted and nodded at Ivar in forgiveness. He could admit he was quick to anger, overreacting in his upset. Besides, regardless of their familial tie, it didn’t matter to Gavin what Ivar thought; it only mattered that Reginnvaldr knew how desperately Gavin loved his life here. </p><p>    “What’s this about me dying of dysentery?” Came Reginnvaldr’s voice, and Gavin turned to see him standing at the threshold of the bedchambers hall. His voice was light and his shoulders relaxed, but something in his eyes made Gavin wonder how much of their conversation he’d overheard. </p><p>    “Bah!” Ivar exclaimed, waving his hand at Reginnvaldr as if swatting at a fly. With an impressive display of agility, he used his arms to lift himself from Reginnvaldr’s chair and shift to the bench beside it. </p><p>    “I’d think if anyone died of dysentery, it’d be Hvítserk,” Reginnvaldr said, sitting in his own chair and taking a moment to shove at his brother. “Bjorn will be trampled by wild asses or seduced by an elf. You’ll go in battle.”</p><p>    Ivar cackled. “Bjorn will die trying to fuck something he’s not meant to, and his cock will snap off. But he won’t die of that, no. He’ll die of heartbreak for it!” Ivar wheezed and Gavin looked on politely, internally rolling his eyes, while Ivar and Reginnvaldr giggled like adolescent boys. <em>Alphas</em>.</p><p>    “And what about you, hm Reginnvaldr?” Ivar said, voice still higher than usual with mirth. “Old age won’t grant you a truce, even if the spears spare you.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr sighed heavily. “I’ve already spent months chasing Eyesteinn around, and I’ve already agreed to call out for support at the next <em>þing</em>, Ivar. I think I’ve accepted defeat at a spear’s end no matter how often you call me war-wary. I’d venture to say I welcome death.” That didn’t sit right with Gavin and he made sure to kick Reginnvaldr under the table. Having not moved from the bench hindered his aim a bit, but Reginnvaldr still felt it and looked at him curiously. </p><p>    Gavin gave him a look. For all he could chuckle along to a grim joke, it sent his stomach to fits to imagine his alpha’s death. “Don’t say that,” Gavin whispered. Reginnvaldr blinked and nodded quickly before looking away, and Gavin took the matter as settled for now. He’d certainly be having words later though.</p><p>    “So how often do we have a <em>þing</em>?” Gavin asked, deciding a change in subject was needed. </p><p>    “Whenever Reginnvaldr calls for one,” Ivar said with a snort. Reginnvaldr shot him an unimpressed look.</p><p>    “About twice a year,” Reginnvaldr answered. “More if someone calls for one.”</p><p>    “More if the <em>king</em> calls for one,” Ivar corrected. “We’re about close up to the next <em>þing </em>anyways, in what, a few weeks?”</p><p>    “Three.”</p><p>    “Then we’ve got enough time for your proper dress and enough time to strategize how best to approach asking for aid,” Gavin mused. He opened his mouth to say more but was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. </p><p>    “I think we’d do well to retire for a bit before the feast tonight,” Reginnvaldr said, standing from his seat and pulling Gavin up with him. “We’ll discuss the details of the <em>þing </em>later.”</p><p>    Despite having just emerged from a near-weeklong getaway of privacy and intimacy with the man, Gavin was grateful to be alone with Reginnvaldr once again. He hoped their room would start to smell like <em>their </em>room soon, it didn’t smell quite right with only Gavin's scent dominating the place. </p><p>    “‘m happy you’re back Val,” Gavin murmured, shucking off his shoes and undoing his belt. He pulled his tunic off too, draping it over his bedchest in a half-hearted attempt at keeping it neat for later. Clad only in trousers, Gavin burrowed into the soft furs lining the bed and made grabby hands towards his mate. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr undressed at a much quicker pace, discarding his own tunic without even an attempt at tidiness. The heat of Reginnvaldr’s bare chest at his back had Gavin purring in delight and wiggling to feel Reginnvaldr’s sparse chest hair tickle his own bare back. It felt nice to have such intimate skin contact without the desperate haze of heat and rut. </p><p>    Though he was loathe to break the comfortable silence, Gavin had to say something. “I don’t like it when you joke about your death,” he whispered into the furs. A part of him hoped Reginnvaldr wouldn’t hear it, that they wouldn’t have to have any kind of uncomfortable conversation when the call of a nap was so much more appealing. </p><p>    But Reginnvaldr did hear him, and he stiffened, just enough to make their snuggle uncomfortable. “I don’t joke about death,” he said slowly, like he couldn’t understand what Gavin was talking about.</p><p>    “Fine, then I don’t like it when you talk about your death like it’ll happen tomorrow,” Gavin said, furrowing his brows at the undecorated wall. “I don’t want to think about you dying, Reginnvaldr.”</p><p>    “We all die, Gavin,” Reginnvaldr said. It made Gavin irrationally angry, like Reginnvaldr thought he was a child that needed basic facts explained instead of a newly mated omega scared for his alpha. Gavin carefully reigned in his scent, careful not to let any of his upset leak through. He wanted this to be a rational conversation, not a shouting match filled with pheromones. </p><p>    “Yes we do,” Gavin huffed, he shifted to try and face Reginnvaldr, but Reginnvaldr’s arms were too stiff, too tight around him to allow for the action. “But I don't want to think about my alpha dying any time soon okay? From dysentery or spears or anything, okay? I don’t want to think about you dying in this war.”</p><p>    “Does the idea of death scare you, Gavin?” Reginnvaldr asked. Gavin couldn’t place his tone, but he didn't like it. He squirmed in those stiff arms, trying to get Reginnvaldr to look at him. “I find it reassuring. There is no greater honor for a warrior than to die in battle and serve Oðinn in Valhöll.”</p><p>    Gavin finally broke away from Reginnvaldr’s embrace and leapt from the bed. This conversation, the thought of Reginnvaldr’s death sent painful jolts through his body, like his limbs had fallen asleep and were just reawakening. He threw his hands up with his words. “I don’t <em>care</em> if it’s the greatest fucking honor a warrior could have, I couldn’t care less if Oðinn himself came down from the fucking heavens right now and told you you could have his throne so long as you died first. I don’t care!” His throat began closing, like his tears were so thick they were suffocating him. He couldn’t catch his breath. “I-I don’t fucking <em>care</em>! It’s not an honor to die.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr sat up, frowning with his arms crossed. “Gavin, you need to understand, that the reputation of a man who dies in battle far outweighs that of a man who lives to a-hundred-and-three and keels over in his sleep. That’s despicable! I know you’re not from here, but you can’t expect the world to cater to your upbringing. I’ll be a happy man the day I die, because I’ll die in battle, as Reginnvaldr, king of Jutland.”</p><p>    Gavin’s head spun and with a great sob, his tears began falling. Great fat things that rolled off his cheeks to stain his tunic. He gasped in shuddering breaths, fists balled at his sides. “Don’t you dare fucking bring up my upbringing,” he whispered, trying to get the words out before another sob fractured them. “I’m as much a northman as you are now. Don’t forget who kept Ribe whole while you were off chasing alpha dreams of victory.”</p><p>    “I didn’t mean that. Of course you are.” Reginnvaldr said. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but shut it again. Gavin hated this, hated that they were at fighting about this, that they had to have this conversation at all. </p><p>    “Whatever honor you gain in a battle death,” Gavin said, taking a pause to inhale shakily. “Is inconsequential compared to the mate and children you’d leave behind.” He glared directly at Reginnvaldr then, allowing the fear, the pain, the anger to show through his eyes, to suffocate the room with their scent. Gavin could tell the moment his pheromones hit Reginnvaldr because he hunched over and grimaced like he'd been struck. </p><p>    Without waiting for a reply, Gavin snatched his tunic and strode from the room, out of the great hall, and into the late afternoon sun. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not going to lie, it's been brutal for me lately. A bunch of thank you's to everyone sticking around for this fic and a trillion and one thank you's to everyone who comments. &lt;3 </p><p>Historical Shenanigans: </p><p>1) This was my absolute favorite chapter to write. More than any of the following ones, more than any of the preceding ones. I love Ivar the Boneless so putting my own twist on him was fun. There is some weird debate about Ivar in some antiquated scholarly circles (A. Thomas in a 2005 conference, for instance) But given that the debate is weird, acephobic, ableist, and stupid, I've elected to ignore it. In this fic, Ivar could have children if he really wanted to, but is asexual and Not About sex. Also, per the SoRL, Ivar is disabled and uses a mobility aid (ie a shield/chair carried by strong warriors.) I'll go to my grave defending ace, disabled Ivar Ragnarsson and that's that on that. </p><p>2) The flyting between Ivar and Val! Historically, this is a relatively accurate flyting exchange. In flyting, two parties would insult each other (usually sexual insults or insults about masculinity) until one proved the victor. Pretty similar to modern rap battles! Check out Harbard's Song (Odin vs Thor) and the Lokasenna (Loki vs all of the gods) for some hilarious period flyting!</p><p>3) In that same vein, many of the clunkier or stranger sounding phrases in this chapter are direct quotes from the Poetic Edda. For instance, Val tells Ivar "That if you and I should contend with wounding words, I’ll be richer in my replies when you say too much," which is directly lifted from the Lokasenna. Ivar tells Val "Old age won’t grant you a truce, even if the spears spare you," which is from Sayings of the High One. If you couldn't tell, I love the Poetic Edda. I recommend Carolyne Larrington's translation for it. She's absolutely spectacular. Jackson Crawford has a similarly good translation, but Larrington's has superior cultural context notes in the back that make the experience much more informative and exciting.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Forever thankful for <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a> for their keen mind and sharp eyes &lt;3<br/>Apologies to everyone, but with finals being what the are, we will not have a chapter next week. The next chapter (er, two chapters, sorry Noel) is massive and required quite a bit of editing to flow smoothly. So I'll see you back on the 12th, hopefully with both me and my students having passed everything!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 18</p><p>Blinded by tears, it wasn’t until he’d nearly run into the practice weapons shack that Gavin realized where his feet had taken him. Sniffling, he took a leather helmet with a half-face and shoved it on his head to partially hide his ruddy, tear-streaked face. He then grabbed the medium-weight wooden shield he’d grown accustomed to using, and a dulled steel axe. </p><p>    He immediately exited the shack and jogged to Geoff’s farm. Michael, thank the gods, was there and didn’t look to be in the middle of anything important. “Training ring, five bloody minutes!” Gavin called to him in his most authoritative voice. He got nothing in reply save for a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed look, but he’d take it. And if Michael wasn’t there, he’d hunt the bastard down and give him a few smacks with the axe, unarmed or not. </p><p>    Jeremy was a harder target to find, but thankfully the second place Gavin looked, the smithy, yielded results. </p><p>    “What’s up Gav? You smell weird,” Jeremy commented, quickly coming to meet him. Gavin just shook his head and gestured with his axe to the training ring. “Come on Jer.”</p><p>    Jeremy, bless him, nodded and jogged towards the ring with Gavin, veering off to the weapons shack before joining him back at the ring in record time. He also wore a helmet, and had opted for a heavier than normal shield. Michael stood waiting for them, his usual blue-hued sword strapped to his side and a shield—that Gavin recognized as Geoff’s with its bear and flower gyronny design—at his feet. </p><p>    “Let—“ Gavin cleared his throat to dispel the hoarse, teary quality. “Let’s go. Hit drills.”</p><p>    Jeremy and Michael exchanged looks. “Gav, are you alright? You seem a bit—“ </p><p>Gavin cut Jeremy off. “I want two-on-one, we’ll switch at ten hits.” Gavin lifted his arms to a ready position and adopted his fighting stance, leaving Michael and Jeremy to slowly take up their own arms and ready them.</p><p>“Lay on!” Gavin called, bracing for the inevitable test shots Michael would throw at his shield. They didn't come. Gavin lowered his axe slightly. “I said bloody lay on! For fuck’s sake!”</p><p>    After another moment’s hesitation, Jeremy finally threw a slow, half-hearted shot towards him. Gavin not only easily deflected it, but sent his axe flying out of his hand. “Come on!” Gavin bit out, his voice garbled by a growl. Michael’s eyes narrowed and Gavin grit his teeth.</p><p>    Thankfully, it seemed like Michael was finally willing to spar, and a flurry of quick blows rained down upon Gavin’s shield. His arm wavered, but he did not break his guard, and just as quickly threw a shot at Michael’s upper thigh, smashing the shield towards his face to block his sight. </p><p>    The adrenaline of fighting quickly overtook Gavin and blocked out the most painful emotions. All that mattered was the next shot, the next block. All that mattered were his feet, firm on the ground, his breath, even and steady. The blood rushed through his ears, leaving everything dulled, muted.</p><p>    Jeremy’s shot at his head went wide and it only took Gavin leaning away to unbalance him. Gavin took advantage of his crossed legs and threw a shot to Jeremy’s arm that he only just blocked. Michael took the opportunity to land a stinging shot that just glanced Gavin’s hip, but he considered the blow worth it. Michael had left himself in perfect position for Gavin to shield bash him. Which he promptly did. </p><p>    The blows, the blocks, the dust kicked up from their accelerating footwork, all of it blended together with the scent of leather, the clatter of steel. Sweat dripped down Gavin’s forehead and into his eyes, but he didn't feel blinded. No, he felt like he was moving quicker than he ever had before, like Jeremy and Michael were trying to fight through honey. </p><p>    A crash of steel against steel had Gavin yowling like some feral beast of nightmares, and the sound of his own voice spurred him on until he was slashing, slashing, slashing and—</p><p>    “Gavin!” Michael’s hoarse, desperate voice suddenly broke through Gavin’s haze. Something tripped him and he fell flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him and his vision going blurry. The world swayed dangerously like he was on a ship in an unsettled sea. as he lay on the dirt. Everything was so blurry. He went to rub his eyes, but couldn’t make his hands let go of his arms, they were clenched so tightly. A gentle hand encouraged him to a sitting position and Gavin blinked blearily as the leather helm was removed from his face. </p><p>    “You back with us, Gav?” Michael asked, snapping his fingers close to Gavin’s ear. His other hand kept him upright, as if he was worried Gavin would topple back over without it. Which wasn't too far off considering how suddenly disoriented and queasy he felt. </p><p>    “Where’d I go?” Gavin slurred. His tongue hurt and when he flexed it blood filled his mouth. “Ow! I ‘fink I bit ‘mah tongue.” Speaking felt odd too, some of his teeth feeling wobbly. Fuck, if he lost his teeth <em>again</em>, this quickly after mating, he was going to be seriously annoyed.</p><p>    No one answered his question, but Michael and Jeremy did help him to his feet and began guiding him back to the great hall. The sun sat low in the sky, low enough that Gavin was puzzled. They’d only been sparring for a few minutes, and it had been afternoon. Had he passed out when he fell?</p><p>    Despite feeling off-balance and disoriented, Gavin noticed Ivar and his bearers follow behind them. He must have been watching them train. Gavin grimaced at how foolish he must have looked tripping and knocking himself out. Any respect he’d garnered with the man was liable to fade away after that. </p><p>    The hall was bustling, but Jeremy and Michael expertly led him through the bodies until he was in the safety of his chambers. It was surprisingly bright inside. Instead of his two dim tallow candles, heaps of lit beeswax candles lined every surface, just like they had before the hall burned down all those months ago. Gavin squinted at the candles, confused. </p><p>    “Gavin, are you alright?” That was Reginnvaldr’s voice. Gavin groaned and stumbled out of his friends’ arms to collapse face-down on the bed. He did not want to have a follow up conversation to their earlier argument. He needed a nap and some food first. And perhaps another bath. </p><p>    “Er,” Jeremy started, voice meek. “I think I heard Matt calling me.”</p><p>    “Me too,” Michael agreed. “I mean, I think I heard Geoff. Or something. I’ll leave you to it.” Gavin didn’t bother to raise his head at the retreating footsteps, but huffed and frowned into the furs. Bloody cowards.</p><p>    Gavin felt the bed dip under Reginnvaldr's weight as he sat next to him. Gentle fingers rubbed at the nape of Gavin’s neck, and he had to actively resist melting into the soothing touch. “Did you spar with Jeremy and Michael? Hours before the feast, after a week of mating? You’ll be lucky if you can keep awake long enough to smell the food, let alone eat it,” Reginnvaldr joked. Gavin didn’t make a sound and stayed stock still. The silence veered towards uncomfortable. </p><p>    “You're still upset then?” Reginnvaldr asked, an edge of discomfort to his voice. </p><p>    Gavin huffed. He clenched his jaw and hissed when his loose teeth jostled against each other. Though the hiss wasn't directed at him, Reginnvaldr withdrew his hand like it had been.</p><p>    “You are still upset,” Reginnvaldr said, voice half-disbelieving. “I can’t believe—“</p><p>     “I can,” Ivar interrupted. “Put me down, Reginnvaldr can carry his own damn chair and his own damn brother back, leave us.” His bearers departed without a word and left a deadpan Ivar blocking the threshold, once again sat in Reginnvaldr’s own chair.</p><p>    “What—“</p><p>    “I don’t know what boneheaded thing you said to upset that boy,” Ivar said, words nearly cutting in their precise diction. “But you said it well enough to have him <em>berseking</em> half out of his mind. Those lads he was with had to damn near knock him out to stop it.”</p><p>    Was that what happened? It had been such a blur, but Gavin was sure he wasn’t <em>berserking</em>. That was impossible, he was an omega, and not a warrior omega either. <em>Berserking</em> was for the alphas, with their bear minds and their wolf hearts. </p><p>    “Gavin?” Reginnvaldr asked, disbelief still present in his voice, but more awed than upset. Gavin grumbled and burrowed his face deeper into the furs.</p><p>    “It’s true,” Ivar said for him. “Don’t think his friends expected it either. This the first time he’s done it?” </p><p>    “I don’t know,” Reginnvaldr replied. Gavin could feel the ghost of his touch, just above his back, like Reginnvaldr’s hand was hovering over him, deciding if it was welcome. Despite his annoyance with the man, Gavin reached a hand out to direct Reginnvaldr to pet him. He was an idiot bastard, but Gavin craved his touch. Which he received, albeit full of hesitation. </p><p>     “Well he’s a natural,” Ivar continued, apparently unperturbed by the affection. Gavin could imagine his unimpressed, no-nonsense expression perfectly. “Scared the shit out of everyone, but didn't show any signs of exhaustion, moved so quickly it was hard to see him, and hit that little lad’s shield so hard it splintered.” </p><p>    He had? He’d splintered Jeremy’s heavy shield? He’d <em>scared</em> everyone? Gavin frowned into the furs, trying to remember anything of the sort, but all that came to mind was the rushing of his blood in his ears and the smell of leather in his nose. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes they’d been sparring, and yet it was nearly dark when they finished. He couldn't have swung that hard, and yet his arm ached like he’d lifted something far too heavy for his strength.</p><p>    “Mother will be pleased if nothing else,” Ivar snorted. “Another <em>svinfylking </em>omega warrior in the family.” That word, boar-warrior, like Michael had told him ages ago.</p><p>    <em>“No. Like the berserkr takes the hide of a bear and the úlfheðnar takes the pelt of a wolf, the svinfylking takes the skin of a boar. Freyr’s and Freyja’s beast. We haven’t had someone become svinfylking in years.”</em></p><p>    Gavin remembered expressing interest in the fantastical-sounding ability. It was like some godly power of legend, something unreal. The ache in his arms felt very real, and very unlike an exciting godly power. Gavin was certain he’d never felt further from godhood than at this very moment, sweaty, sore and exhausted. Exhausted to his core, down past his flesh and into the very marrow of his bones, like his soul was in need of a rest too.</p><p>    “He shouldn’t have to do that,” Reginnvaldr protested, sounding worried. “That’s too great a burden to bear.”</p><p>    “You should be rejoicing!” Ivar spat back, sounding every inch the nagging older brother. “That he’s strong enough to fight alongside you while you enter the wolf’s mind! That he may walk, as an equal, beside you. Use your head!” </p><p>    Gavin huffed. Part of him wanted to remind the two that he was still here and could, in fact, hear them. The rest of him renounced the idea of spending energy to protest when he was so comfortable. He compromised by grunting into the furs “Talk later, sleep now.” Silence met his demand, but he eventually felt Reginnvaldr rise from the bed—leaving Gavin feeling petulant at his absence despite his annoyance with his mate—and heard the scrape of wood on stone. Heavy footsteps led away from the chambers, the door softly clicking shut—ostensibly Reginnvaldr carrying Ivar back to the hall—and Gavin felt a whine bubble up in his chest.</p><p>    His damn instincts, his own omegean nature fighting against his frustration with Reginnvaldr. He wanted to hold on to that frustration, that anger, but every inch of him yearned for his mate. It <em>hurt</em> to have Reginnvaldr so far away from him. It hurt to have them upset with one another. Gavin couldn’t take it anymore, he had to go after him. With a whine that had just as much to do with his yearning as it did his physical pain, Gavin heaved himself off the bed and stood for a good four seconds before the door opened again and revealed Reginnvaldr's drawn face.</p><p>    It was that same moment that Gavin’s legs decided they’d had enough and he collapsed like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Immediately, strong, warm arms wrapped around him and lifted him up. Reginnvaldr cradled him close, holding him like he might break, like he was the most precious thing in his world. It caused another whine to escape Gavin’s throat, halfhearted and weak like he couldn’t make a sound louder. </p><p>    “Beloved,” Reginnvaldr whispered, nosing at his hair and peppering kisses at his temple. “I didn’t know I’d hurt you so badly.” His voice sounded thick, like he was trying to speak through tears and the thought had Gavin’s eyes watering too. </p><p>    “Don’t want you to die,” Gavin whispered, the sentence taking more effort than it should have. He let himself become dead weight, but Reginnvaldr’s arms didn’t so much as sway. He was so strong, so sturdy, a mountain in a windstorm.</p><p>    “Shh omega-mine,” Reginnvaldr hushed him, carrying him to the bed where he sat down but kept holding Gavin close. “I’m not going to die. Not today, not tomorrow, not for many, many years.” Gavin felt wetness at his forehead and smelled the distinctly heavy salt of tears. The tremble in Reginnvaldr’s voice confirmed it. “I’m not leaving you. I’m sorry I fell into childish alpha nonsense.” That made Gavin laugh a little, a reedy, thin laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. Reginnvaldr pressed a firm kiss into his hair before speaking again. “I’m not going to die because I want to live to see your long hair turn silver.” He kissed Gavin’s hair. I want to see that beard streaked with grey.” A kiss pressed into his cheek. “I want to see if your furry little chest goes as white as the rest of your hair.” A kiss on his collarbone, right below his collar. “That’s worth a hundred Valhölls, a thousand Valhölls. I’d happily spend the rest of eternity in Fólkvangr, reaping the fields and fighting where Freyja needs to see the wrinkles you’ll earn. I’d happily live my death in Helheim, tending a farm and existing as I lived, just to hear how age will rasp your voice.”</p><p>    Gavin fisted Reginnvaldr’s tunic with his hands, unable to think in the wake of his words. It was too overwhelming to think about. Val’s honeyed words a balm to his scratched heart, his earnest scent begging for forgiveness and filling Gavin's head with comfort.</p><p>    “I’m sorry I got so upset,” Gavin murmured, nuzzling into Reginnvaldr’s chest when he felt those arms squeeze him tighter. “I know death here is a…<em>happier</em> concept than back in Northumbria.” He wondered how much Reginnvaldr knew about the Christian afterlife. After all, the man had never attended a mass, couldn’t read a bible, likely had never sat down with a priest and confessed. He would have no context for the terrifying finality of death Gavin had grown up with.</p><p>    “In Christendom,” Gavin began slowly, words thin with his exhaustion, but clear nonetheless. “When you die you get two options. Eternal bliss in the arms of God in paradise, or eternal suffering and agony in hell. Only the most devoted, most pure of soul go to paradise. Most everyone else goes to hell.” Gavin thought he’d be one of those; a male omega had no place in eternal paradise. It was a painful memory, the self-loathing and god-fearing he’d endured before coming to Jutland. Thrills of anxiety still attempted to race through him at the thought of perdition, but they were significantly dulled by Reginnvaldr’s scent filling his nose, his arms surrounding him.</p><p>    “A cruel god to force his worshippers into eternal pain,” Reginnvaldr mused quietly. </p><p>    Gavin hummed. “Perhaps. I was never one for theology despite father’s insistence. Never liked reading.”</p><p>    “I won’t be going to any Anglian hell, I promise.” Gavin wasn’t completely sure, but he intentionally chose not to think too hard about it. He had no need for an internal crisis of belief and theology, especially right now. He would think only of tending a farm that produced twice the food for half the work, and mead that was twice as sweet with half the honey in a sky of eternal sunset in Fólkvangr. </p><p>    Or better yet, he would only think of the present, in Jutland with Reginnvaldr. Let the rest of it hang.</p><p>    “We don’t really have to go to the feast,” Reginnvaldr whispered to him after a time had passed. “You’re exhausted, and it will be loud and obnoxious.”</p><p>    Gavin smiled tiredly and considered it. It would be nice to sleep for an age after the events of the day. It was entirely too much to deal with in one day. Just that very morning, he and Reginnvaldr had made love in the little cave just outside Ribe. It felt like a lifetime ago. </p><p>    “We’ve at least got to try Lindsay’s cooking or she’ll never let us forget it,” Gavin replied. “But can you…” Gavin trailed off, too embarrassed to ask out loud. </p><p>    “Anything, omega-mine.” The arms around him squeezed him close in a hug before relaxing again. </p><p>    “Can you carry me?” Gavin squeaked out, voice little more than a whisper. “Can I sit with you, and can you hide me away?” It was a silly thing to ask, but the thought of everyone’s attention, of standing on ceremony after such an arduous day turned his stomach. The thought of hiding away in Reginnvaldr's arms, his scent and private words a buffer to the chaos of a feast, however, was a delightfully appealing one. </p><p>    Judging by Reginnvaldr’s purr and prideful scent, it was more than acceptable. He yanked a faded woolen blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it as best he could around Gavin without relinquishing his grip. Gavin wiggled and sighed in contentment, letting his control over his scent ease enough to allow his pleasure and comfort shine through.</p><p>    And so, still covered in dried sweat and dust from training, eyes drooping and body lax, Gavin was carried to the great hall proper and carefully positioned in Reginnvaldr’s lap while his alpha sat down. The noise of the hall did decrease and Gavin could hear some sounds of concern or confusion, but a bravado-filled command from Reginnvaldr, “Let us feast!” stayed any more discomfort.</p><p>    It was fairly unremarkable, as far as feasts went, Gavin thought. Though being hidden away against Reginnvaldr’s chest like a little treasure was a novel experience. Reginnvaldr reached forward to drag a platter of food closer, holding Gavin tight against him as he moved. He plucked a piece of something wrapped in fried bacon and drizzled a spoon of what smelled like mustard over it. Despite not know what he was about to eat, Gavin obediently opened his mouth. The salt from the meat melded with the tang of mustard seeds and the earthiness of what must have been mushrooms. Gavin moaned softly at the taste, and at Reginnvaldr’s hand, gently rubbing little circles on his back, snaking up every so often to rub his neck.</p><p>    Gavin was certain the quantity of food Lindsay and her apprentices prepared could have fed Ribe twelve times over. He was grateful for her skill, if not for her ability to properly portion, and before long, the drink and food revived him enough to sit upright on Val's lap instead of curled up like a pet.</p><p>    “There’s my Gavin,” Reginnvaldr whispered to him as he righted himself. “What do you need omega-mine? Say the word and it’s yours.”</p><p>    Gavin hummed in amusement and pressed a kiss to Reginnvaldr’s cheek. "I think Paris should suffice. And a wheelbarrow filled with emeralds and lapis.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr chuckled. “Then you will have it, my dear.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Historical shenanigans:</p><p>1) Marionettes are period accurate (and actually originate from much earlier)! So Gavin's reference to feeling like a marionette with its strings cut is an accurate expression. I'm sure you all appreciate the authenticity in your gay Viking porn &lt;3</p><p>2) Gavin references TWO afterlives for the Catholic religion. The concept of purgatory (a potential 'third' option for after death) did not arise until the mid-to-late 1100s. Look at that, period accuracy even in the afterlife!</p><p>3) I made up the "something wrapped in fried bacon" with mustard. It's potentially period accurate because all of the ingredients were readily available to the Danish Scandinavians. And plus Lindsay is our chef here, she's undoubtedly come up with something stranger than mushroom-mustard-bacon wraps. You can find more on Ribe Viking era food<a href="https://www.ribevikingecenter.dk/en/learn-more/food/food-solstice-feast.aspx">here</a></p><p>4) The 'sacking Paris' line at the end is a reference to the Danish Viking king Rollo, who I based Reginnvaldr off of. You can read about Rollo's exploits in the later period <i>History of the Normans </i>by Dudo St. Quentin <a href="https://sourcebooks.fordham.edu/source/dudu-stquentin-gesta-trans-lifshitz.asp">here.</a> It's a quick read and paints Rollo in a rather positive light considering all his unChristianly actions.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Woohoo, finals done! I was able to submit around 70 pages of writing on time AND all of my students passed their final exam!! So proud :') I hope everyone reading this who also had exams got through them without dying/is getting through them. &lt;3 Onto the story:<br/>Many thanks again to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a> for editing this monstrosity of a chapter. They kindly instructed me to break it up into two chapters (what do you mean 14k is too long for a single chapter?) so we'll be adding to the chapter count of this fic.<br/>Shout out to rebel_raven, who's consistently thoughtful comments have been getting me through finals and have been giving me confidence in this story. Peep a certain someone's animal nickname in this fic 👀 [eyes emoji]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 19</p><p>The morning they were set to leave for the <em>þing</em>, Gavin awoke alone. This was a rare occurrence in his post-mating life, though the warmth of the bed and the strength of Reginnvaldr’s scent promised it was only a recent inconvenience. Gavin stretched, messing up the bedfurs, and heaved himself out of bed with an appropriate amount of griping. It wasn’t as difficult in the summer months with the warm air, but it still wasn’t his favorite thing in the world.</p><p>    Gavin had gone as far as putting on his undertunic and a fresh pair of trousers when the chamber door swung open to reveal Reginnvaldr with a food-laden tray carefully gripped between his hands. He looked just as surprised as Gavin imagined he looked.</p><p>    “You were supposed to stay in bed,” Reginnvaldr whined, a self-deprecating smile on his face. He set the tray on Gavin’s bedside table and took to gripping Gavin’s hips instead, pushing him backwards until he hit the bed and had no choice but to lay down. “Suppose I ought to give you a reason to stay in bed, hm?” </p><p>    Gavin hummed, wrapping his arms about Reginnvaldr’s neck and nipping teasing at his lips. “Won’t breakfast get cold?” Despite his words, Gavin peppered kisses across Reginnvaldr’s jaw down to his neck. Reginnvaldr moaned, spurning Gavin on. He ran his hands up and down Reginnvaldr’s clothed back, petting what he could reach.</p><p>    “I can think of better things to put in my mouth right now,” Reginnvaldr murmured back, voice entirely too raspy and low for the foolish things he said. Gavin snorted and kissed his mate right on his ridiculous lips. The growing heat between the two had Gavin far more concerned with rutting together like teenagers than eating breakfast anyways.</p><p>    He had just snuck a hand down to palm Reginnvaldr’s stirring hardness through his trousers when the chamber door flung open and Meg’s squeak mingled with Ivar’s scoff.</p><p>    “Make yourselves decent and be out within the hour, or Mjǫll will barge in there, clothes or not and drag you into the hall by your ears!” </p><p>    “I will do no such thing!” Meg protested, not making eye contact with Gavin or Reginnvaldr and quickly shutting the door behind her. The sounds of Ivar loudly berating Reginnvaldr could be heard for several minutes longer than they should have. Gavin groaned, the entire hall was likely to know what they’d been up to with how loudly Ivar complained.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr echoed his groan and gently knocked his forehead against Gavin. “Well, at least breakfast will stay warm,” Reginnvaldr commented. Gavin laughed and wiggled out from under him, sitting cross-legged on the bed. He knew they had to make their morning quick, but a part of Gavin did lament the lack of hand-feeding.</p><p>    And the lack of sex.</p><p>    Nonetheless, within the hour, Gavin and Reginnvaldr emerged from their chambers, fed and dressed for travel. Ivar sat in Reginnvaldr's chair, speaking with Meg and looking even more impatient than usual. </p><p>    “What’s got you so grouchy today?” Reginnvaldr asked as he entered the hall, depositing the dirty tray on the table and making himself comfortable on the bench across from Meg. It was Meg that answered. “He’s going into rut and wants to make it everyone else’s problem.”
</p><p>    Gavin stiffened at her words, but seeing as both Reginnvaldr and Meg seemed utterly unconcerned about this, he allowed himself to slowly relax. Ivar grumbled something and waved his hand in the air. </p><p>    “Will you be okay to travel?” Reginnvaldr asked him.</p><p>    “Don’t coddle me you fat bastard, I’ll be fine as soon as we get on with it!” Ivar huffed back, voice nearly a growl. If anything, he resembled a man with a hangover more than he did an alpha lost to lust and aggression in rut. </p><p>    “Er…” Gavin began, not sure how to ask the no doubt offensive question plaguing his mind. “There won't be any unmated omegas going, will there?” He wasn’t sure who exactly was going with them to the <em>þing</em>, nor who they would be meeting there, but an alpha in rut wouldn’t mix well with an unmated omega.</p><p>    “Eugh! Aren’t I in enough pain?” Ivar protested, vehemently shaking his head, as if nauseous at the thought. “Rut this, knotting that!What, want me to vomit too? A headache isn’t enough for you!”</p><p>    “Er—“ Gavin wasn’t sure what to say to that. It was a perfectly reasonable concern to have!</p><p>    “If there are, they’ll be fine, as will Ivar,” Reginnvaldr reassured him quickly. “He’s not interested in such things. I don’t think Freyja herself could encourage Ivar to take a mate.”</p><p>    “I’d sooner keel over! It's why I’m so glad you finally have a mate, Reginnvaldr, you can continue on the bloodline without forcing me to subject myself to <em>that</em>,” Ivar said, lips pursed like he’d tasted something sour. While Gavin had never heard of an alpha who wouldn’t lose control while in rut, he trusted Ivar—and what’s more, trusted Val’s approximation of him—enough to let the subject drop. The rest of their morning preparations went off without a hitch and before long their journey was underway. </p><p>⁂</p><p>    Though Gavin still didn’t prefer to travel by horseback, he had to admit caring for the smaller mounts during Reginnvaldr’s absence helped to ease his discomfort around the creatures enough to make riding smooth and worry-free. He still jumped when his horse—the same dappled mare he first rode to Ribe—shook its head for whatever reason, but no longer was he petrified of moving while atop his steed.  </p><p>    He still held reservations about Reginnvaldr’s beast—called such because Gavin was certain no horse could grow so large as to tower over everything and everyone—but it was calm today and obeyed Reginnvaldr’s commands just as well as it always had. It was still unnerving to ride alongside Reginnvaldr and having to crane his neck upwards to look his mate in the eye.</p><p>    Two hard days of riding was all it took before they were upon the great barrow used for the <em>þing. </em>Gavin wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when he’d envisioned the setting, but this was far from it. Great swathes of lush, green grass covered the ground, the verdant landscape broken only by patches of wildflowers that were concentrated around swelling hills—the barrows—that covered the edges of the meadow. </p><p>    There were no buildings constructed in the meadow, only the barrows hinted at a human touch in an otherwise pristine oasis. It was beautiful. A tranquility to the space that had Gavin relaxing without really understanding why.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr and Gavin led their traveling party to the middle of the meadow, using a divide between two barrows to enter. No one spoke, their only sounds the soft footfalls of their horses and the chirping of birds nesting in nearby trees. When they hit flat ground, a few hundred feet from the Barrows, they stopped, and Reginnvaldr swiftly dismounted. Ever the alpha, he approached Gavin’s steed and met his eyes with an earnest expression.</p><p>    “Might a humble warrior help his queen down from his mount?” Reginnvaldr asked, voice quiet but eager. The sunlight shined through his hair, illuminated his eyes; he looked so alive in this silent meadow, ethereal. Gavin grinned and offered a hand to his mate, allowing himself to be helped to the ground. Though Reginnvaldr steadied him perfectly, Gavin let his legs buckle so Reginnvaldr would hold him closer. By the teasing look and smirk on his mate’s face, he wasn’t fooled, but he held Gavin close nonetheless, so Gavin counted it as a win.</p><p>    It didn't take them long to set up camp. It reminded Gavin quite a bit of his first time traveling with the northmen, great canvas tents erected in record time, everyone working together to ensure they would finish quickly. Though Gavin thought he'd had more than his fill of sleeping in tents after Ribe’s fire, something about the prospect of being able to share with Reginnvaldr made the tents much more appealing. </p><p>    They had just begun setting up the final tent, when the sounds of horses and livestock had Gavin looking away from the canvas he held and towards the north side of the barrow. Though he couldn’t see exactly who approached, he could see a few figures atop horses and a few others walking alongside. One walking figure was occupied by leading a squealing hog along, the noises reaching them on the other side of the barrow. </p><p>    Gavin looked to Reginnvaldr, but he was unconcerned with their guests. It was only after they had finished erecting the tent that Reginnvaldr wiped his dirty hands on his tunic and beckoned Gavin to follow, striding confidently towards the newcomers.</p><p>    In the lead was a woman with dark hair and shrewd eyes. Hair done up in complex braids, filled with beads framed her face and emphasized the sharpness of her cheekbones. She wore trousers underneath her tunic, tighter than the kinds Gavin usually saw northmen wear, and a belt looped with an axe around her waist.</p><p>    “Mardǫll,” greeted Reginnvaldr. “It’s good to see you again.”</p><p>    “Reginnvaldr, I see you’ve been busy,” she replied, a smirk on her face nodding towards Gavin. “I am Mardǫll, warlord of the northern Jutes. You’re Reginnvaldr’s queen then?”</p><p>    Gavin smiled politely. “That I am, pleasure to make your acquaintance Mardǫll.” Per the customs of the northmen, he restrained himself from bowing, but did incline his head slightly in greeting. </p><p>    Mardǫll laughed. “Hah, listen to those fancy words! I look forward to getting to know you during this time,” she turned to Reginnvaldr. “You’re looking good, Ragnarsson, I suppose you have your lad to thank for that.”</p><p>    “I do,” Reginnvaldr agreed. “Gavin is a natural ruler; Freyja smiled down on me with him.” </p><p>    “Can we help you set up camp?” Gavin asked, eager to shift the subject away from himself. He certainly didn’t think himself a leader of any sort and hearing them discuss his qualities was uncomfortable.</p><p>    They had been setting up for only a few minutes when the sound of approaching horses and people reached the barrow. Gavin looked up to see a massive group approaching from the east. In the front was a woman with shining gold hair riding a white horse. Several other riders followed behind her, and a fair number of men on foot trailed even further behind.</p><p>    “Mother!” Reginnvaldr called in delight, immediately abandoning the pole ridge he was handling and grabbing Gavin’s hand. They walked so quickly to meet Áslaug that Gavin nearly tripped over his own feet.
</p><p>    “Little wolf!” Áslaug cried back, dismounting in one fluid motion. Her naturally colored linen dress, fuller in skirts than what Gavin had seen in the north, fluttered behind her and didn’t impede her in the slightest. As she approached them, Gavin noted that she almost glided across the uneven ground, graceful to the point that she looked ethereal.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr embraced her without preamble and with no regard to tradition. “I’m glad to see you mother,” Gavin heard him whisper. Áslaug ran a hand through his hair and squeezed him tightly before pulling back to cradle his face and take him in.</p><p>    “You look good, little wolf,” she said, peering at him like she could read his mind. “Though not so little anymore. Are there any grandchildren in my future?” </p><p>    Gavin snorted at the flush that sprouted on Reginnvaldr’s cheeks. It was rare that he was flustered enough to fully blush, and Gavin savored the sight. At his laugh, Reginnvaldr turned to Gavin, smirking. “Mother, allow me to introduce my beloved, Gavin.”</p><p>    Though Gavin began inclining his head respectfully, he was wrapped into a hug. Áslaug smelled like wildflowers and ash wood, her arms soft and sturdy around him. It took him only a beat to hug her back. </p><p>    “I was wrong, Reginnvaldr,” she said, pulling away from Gavin, but keeping her hands firmly on his shoulders. Her intent gaze would have been disconcerting were it not for the gentleness of her expression. “I told your father that you would hate the sight of gold, but here you are with a boy made of it. A little golden boy, and he’s all yours.” </p><p>    He wasn’t sure what on earth Áslaug was talking about, but Gavin smiled nonetheless and bowed his head. Her hands moved from his shoulders to cup his cheeks, caressing the skin there gently. “It’s good to finally meet you,” Gavin said softly. Áslaug smiled and began to reply when a loud voice interrupted her.</p><p>    “Reginnvaldr, stop sucking up to our mother and let me say hello!” Ivar cried. At his approach, Áslaug gave Gavin a firm squeeze before pulling away.</p><p>    “Why I scarcely recognized you all battle-worn and stiff, my darling raven,” Áslaug teased. Ivar’s bearers, endlessly adaptable, shifted to Ivar’s sides, allowing Áslaug to embrace her son.</p><p>    “Stiff I may be, but I could still knock a man flat on his ass with little more than a flick of my wrist!” Ivar huffed, his mouth pulled into the biggest smile Gavin had seen on him yet. It made the corners of his own mouth pull up higher, seeing the normally gruff man so enthusiastic. Even Ivar could not escape turning into a pup when reunited with his mother.</p><p>    Meg was the next to greet Áslaug, followed after by Mardǫll, who averted her eyes respectfully. No one was above Áslaug, it seemed, alpha or otherwise, and Gavin marveled in the respect her very presence commanded. There was something about her, perhaps it was the shine in her eyes, or the wrinkles lining her eyes and mouth, perhaps it was the softness of her middle and the way she stood perfectly straight. Whatever it was, Gavin found himself wanting to emulate her. There was no way anyone could see Áslaug, interact with her, and not think her a queen.</p><p>    They had very nearly helped Áslaug and her party finish setting up their tents when the last group arrived. A fair man with a becoming beard rode in on a decent sized horse. His party had nothing unusual about it save a thin man with a wiry mustache inexplicably riding a donkey beside him. </p><p>    “Ah, Jornand and Eiríkr,” Reginnvaldr commented, seeing where Gavin’s gaze was drawn. “If nothing else, at least the <em>þing</em> will be interesting with them here.”</p><p>    “Are they allies?” Gavin whispered back despite the distance between their two parties.</p><p>    “Oh yes, Eiríkr just has an…unusual style of interacting with the world.” Reginnvaldr began leading them to the group.</p><p>    The newcomers didn’t react to their approach, the men in front too caught up in some inane—and confusing—argument. </p><p>    “Please, I’m begging you, just be normal,” the fair man pleaded. “Just act like a normal person for the <em>þing</em> and then you can go back to <em>all this </em>after. Okay?”</p><p>    “I’m the most normal person I’ve ever met in my life,” the thin man returned nonchalantly. “In fact, I think I should teach others how to be more normal, because I am totally, completely, normal.”</p><p>    “Lord Jornand,” greeted Reginnvaldr after a moment, wherein neither man seemed to notice him. “And Lord Eiríkr. Your presence at the <em>þing </em>honors us all. How goes life in the west?”</p><p>    “It goes well, thank you Reginnvaldr. Eiríkr and I have been enjoying an impressive harvest this year,” said the man who must have been Jornand. </p><p>    “We’re just all the eats all the time, baby,” Eiríkr agreed from the side, as if he hadn't spoken nonsense. Jornand’s long-suffering sigh informed Gavin that that was not an uncommon occurrence and he couldn't resist smiling at the pair.</p><p>    “Yes, well,” Reginnvaldr cleared his throat and Gavin almost snickered at his bemused expression. “Let me introduce you to Gavin, my omega. He’ll be joining us during the <em>þing</em>.”</p><p>    “Yeah baby,” Eiríkr returned, starring at Gavin’s cheek so intently that Gavin nearly wiped his face to make sure there was nothing on it. Eiríkr was a strange man, Gavin concluded, quite in contrast to his straight-laced mate.</p><p>    By the time they’d finished helping Jornand’s and Eiríkr’s party set up camp, the sun was beginning to hang low in the sky and Gavin could feel his stomach rumbling. Luckily, he spotted a few campfires already crackling merrily and the clang of fire irons and frypans informed him it wouldn’t be much longer until he would be satiated. </p><p>    It happened that the leaders of the respective groups sat closest to one of the more central fires. Gavin squeezed close to Reginnvaldr atop a bench fashioned from a tree trunk, with Áslaug, Ivar, and Meg sharing a much roomier looking trunk a few feet away. Mardǫll and Jornand shared another trunk, while Eiríkr inexplicably lounged belly down on the ground.</p><p>    It was a much subtler form of hand feeding that Gavin and Reginnvaldr indulged in, with the contact being a casual type of affection, rather than the focus of the action. For the first time, the food itself was more important than the act of feeding. It was better not to linger in their own mated bubble while out on a diplomatic retreat. Reginnvaldr passed him a piece of cooked fish, withdrawing his hand without preamble. Gavin privately lamented the practicality of it all.</p><p>    At one point in the meal, Eiríkr approached Gavin, holding out a roll with flecks of something inside. “Wanna try?” Eiríkr asked, tone almost too even and face hosting too normal of an expression to promise anything good.</p><p>    “Er,” Gavin glanced at Reginnvaldr who offered him no help. “Sure?” He took the roll and took a hesitant bite. It was crispy, tasty, surely made of dough and water. By all accounts, it was just an ordinarily fried piece of bread. So Gavin took a bigger bite.</p><p>    A scorching heat immediately filled his mouth. It wasn’t like the heat of a freshly cooked meal, however, it was a spice so overwhelming that he felt tears spring to his eyes and his throat tightened in discomfort. For all of a second, Gavin debated spitting the half-chewed roll out, but immediately discarded the idea. It would be unspeakably rude to treat an ally’s offered gift in such a way, and they needed Eiríkr and his mate on their side in the war against Eyesteinn. </p><p>    Gavin swallowed the lump of dough in his mouth and coughed profusely. At the ruckus, Jornand glanced over.</p><p>    “Ugh, Eiríkr! Please tell me you didn’t feed Gavin your spiced rat rolls.” </p><p>    “There’s rat in this?” Gavin cried through the coughs that still wrenched their way from his throat. Overwhelming spice was one thing, but Gavin was not okay with eating rats. They were vermin for Oðinn’s sake!</p><p>    “No, no, we just call them that,” Jornand assured, his attention still focused on a serene looking Eiríkr. “No one wants to eat your rolls, Eiríkr, please stop feeding them to unsuspecting people.”</p><p>    Gavin silently thanked the gods that he wouldn’t offend Jornand for his next words. “That was…that was awful,” at the laughter that welcomed his comment, Gavin continued. “I had a <em>crumb</em> and my mouth is on fire.” He watched as Eiríkr slumped back to the ground near Jornand, taking the rest of the roll with him. Horrified, he saw Eiríkr take a massive bite of the roll and eat it without problem.</p><p>    “Just, how?” Gavin pondered, the hopeless confusion in his voice spurring more laughter. </p><p>    Eiríkr shrugged. “Big dog’s gotta eat.”</p><p>    “I don’t know how, but that’s going to kill you,” Mardǫll snorted. She seemed completely unconcerned and unsurprised by the ongoings, and Gavin had to wonder at what point behavior as odd as Eiríkr’s became normal.</p><p>    At Mardǫll’s words, Eiríkr looked right at her, stuffed the rest of the roll in his mouth, and swallowed without chewing. “Then I’ll see you in Hel.”</p><p>⁂</p><p>    After an uneventful, if cozy, night, Gavin awoke to sunlight filtering through the canvas tent. He wiggled against Reginnvaldr until he awoke with a groan. The arms wrapped around him squeezed once before withdrawing as Reginnvaldr stretched and propped himself up on his elbows. </p><p>    “Gotta get ready to do things,” Gavin said, sitting up himself and tugging his nearby undertunic over his torso. He wiggled out of the comfortable furs and began dressing, ignoring Reginnvaldr’s sound of dissatisfaction. Harder to ignore was his heated gaze as Gavin bent to retrieve his trousers from the end of the bedroll. </p><p>    “Mmm,” Reginnvaldr hummed huskily. His voice was thick was sleep, low and raspy. “Or you could stay here with me and let me wake you up.”</p><p>    It was a tempting thought that had Gavin pausing as he finishing looping the belt around his waist. They really didn’t have time though, and Gavin had to point out the obvious. “I’m already awake, Val.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr hummed again and raked his eyes lasciviously over Gavin’s body. “Not every part of you.”</p><p>    The very second Gavin was about to give in and allow Reginnvaldr to delay their appearance, Ivar stuck his head through the tent opening and demanded they get a move on. “We’re not getting any younger over here while you sit on your lazy ass, Reginnvaldr!” he yelled. “And for the gods’ sake if not for my eyesight: put some clothes on!”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr’s answering groan was dismayed enough to have Gavin giggling. He blew Reginnvaldr a teasing kiss before exiting the tent, leaving Reginnvaldr to dress alone. No matter how much he wanted to stay, Gavin knew he wouldn’t be able to resist ignoring Ivar and ravishing his mate if he did. And they really did need to get a move on.</p><p>    It was much earlier than the heat of the tent would suggest. The sun had risen, but only just, and the world still seemed asleep, hazy and slow in the early morning light. Gavin stumbled over to the logs from the night before, where he could see Áslaug looking just as put together as the day before. Ivar could be heard berating someone nearby, but Gavin couldn’t quite make out his words.</p><p>    “Good morning, Gavin,” she greeted him without turning her head. </p><p>    “Good morning,” he replied, taking a seat beside her. She had furs wrapped delicately around her against the slight chill of the morning and clutched a steaming cup of what smelled like tea. They sat together in comfortable silence for a time, until Áslaug took a long drink from her cup and pat Gavin’s arm.</p><p>    “You’ve done very well for yourself in the time you’ve been here,” she said. She took another sip of her tea and looked at Gavin over the rim of her cup, eyes shrewd and focused. “It can’t have been easy to do the things you did.” Gavin blinked, suddenly recalling Ita the slave girl, recalling the dying Monk in the burning library, recalling the pain of a lonely heat. Flashes of memory, brighter and more lifelike than they had any right to be, raced across his mind. They abruptly stopped when Áslaug looked away and took another drink. </p><p>    “I don’t know about that,” Gavin replied weakly. He felt off-center, almost dizzy from the sudden influx of unprompted memory. “It’s surely been hard, but it’s been rewarding too," he caught Reginnvaldr's scent and looked up to see his mate fully dressed and groomed, striding towards them with a smile on his face. Gavin couldn’t stop his own lips from tugging into a similar smile at the sight. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”</p><p>    “And you won’t have to,” Áslaug replied. Gavin turned back to her, fully intending on asking her what she meant, but Reginnvaldr’s greetings interrupted him.</p><p>    “A good morning to my lovely mother,” he said, giving Áslaug a squeeze before settling down next to Gavin and pulling him in close. “And a good morning to my beautiful mate.” </p><p>    “Hi Val,” Gavin whispered, snuggling in closer to his arms. He may have preferred the idea of snuggling with Reginnvaldr after early morning marriage activities, but this was a good replacement for that lack of intimacy. Gavin swore he’d find a way to prevent Ivar from future untimely interruptions. Maybe if he challenged him to finish an entire barrel of ale on his own, the alcohol would knock him out for a couple hours. Maybe. </p><p>    “I suspect you already said good morning to Gavin in your own way, didn't you little wolf?” Áslaug asked, smile hidden behind the rim of her cup but clear in her sparkling eyes. Gavin felt his face flush at the boldness of her question. She was Reginnvaldr’s mother, but her teasing was on par with what Michael or Jeremy would give them.</p><p>    “I would have, had Ivar not stomped around like a bull demanding we get out of bed,” Reginnvaldr grumbled. Gavin gaped at his mate, so honest and casual about something so private. </p><p>    Instead of expressing alarm or distaste, Áslaug just laughed, a lovely bell-like sound that had her crows feet crinkling. “I’ll keep him contained this evening. Something tells me you’ll be very tired and in need of an early night’s rest.”</p><p>    “Another one of your prophecies mother?” Reginnvaldr asked, just as teasingly. </p><p>    “Something like that,” she replied, and took a final sip of her tea. She kept the cup cradled between her hands anyways, as if leeching the excess warmth from the pottery. </p><p>    Despite his embarrassment, Gavin spoke. “Well we certainly can’t go against fate can we now, alpha-mine?” By the heated look Reginnvaldr gave him and Áslaug’s laughter, he made the right choice to join the teasing.</p><p>    The camp had grown much busier in their conversation, people waking and seeking out food and fire. It was Meg who called to them from a distance and gestured to a great cauldron filled with food. Gavin made to get up, but Reginnvaldr gently pushed him back down.</p><p>    “Just relax, beloved,” he said. “I’ll bring some to you and mother.” Without another word, Reginnvaldr left Gavin and Áslaug alone again, striding towards the cauldron like a man tasked with the ultimate quest. And in a way he was, considering the number of people in line for the dagmál. Gavin was grateful the cooking was at another camp, he didn’t much fancy everyone in the barrow crowding around their little fire. </p><p>    A warm hand cradling his cheek had Gavin startling. Áslaug looked amused at his reaction, but kept her hand on his face and her gaze gentle. “You’ve gone through much,” she said quietly. “And you’ll go through much more before it’s over I’m afraid.”    </p><p>    “Er, what?” Gavin asked faintly, not quite sure how to reply. Áslaug was so kind, but uncanny in her observations and it was hard to keep up.</p><p>    “Oh little hawk, little ring-adorned boy,” she said gently, quite like a mother cooing over a child. “My son is two parts a fool, and two parts a hopeless little boy trying to make his family proud. Be gentle with him, won’t you?”</p><p>    “I—yes, of course,” he replied, brow furrowed. “But what do you mean?”</p><p>    “I daresay you’ll find out soon enough,” Áslaug said. She got to her feet and waved at someone behind them. Gavin turned his head to see Reginnvaldr, a steaming bowl of food in each hand, walking back. “Here,”Áslaug said, and handed Gavin her empty cup. “I hear my attendants calling me, little wolf,” she told Reginnvaldr. "You keep that bowl and eat it yourself with Gavin, I need to see to some matters.”</p><p>    It was only after she began walking away in that unearthly floating way of hers that an attendant poked their head out of Áslaug’s tent and called for her.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr settled beside him, and Gavin took the offered bowl of apple and cinnamon porridge with one hand. With his other, he brought Áslaug’s cup, filled to the brim with a sweet-smelling tea, to his lips.</p><p>⁂</p><p>    It was only a few hours later that the talks were set to happen. Gavin let himself be led to the oversized tent where they were gathering, too caught up in worry despite Val’s reassurances that everything would be fine. How could it be fine? The last time they’d attempted to talk with other clans, their home was set ablaze and they were separated for months! Gavin felt Reginnvaldr squeeze his hand gently as they walked, but it did little to ease his worries.</p><p>    “Your words have power, little hawk,” came Áslaug’s voice. Gavin turned his head to find the woman entirely closer than her voice had sounded. She quickly strode to meet them and kept pace easily.</p><p>    “Coming to the talks, mother?” Reginnvaldr asked, shooting her an easy smile. </p><p>    “Not at all, no I’m thinking I’ll spend some time elsewhere. Catching butterflies perhaps.” She winked at Gavin and he laughed, though Reginnvaldr seemed to take his mother at her word. </p><p>    “Well I hope you catch several,” he said. “Though we’ll all be sorry for your absence.”</p><p>    “I trust your judgement, little wolf. Just as you trust your little hawk’s judgement,” she looked at Gavin then, a private look that he couldn’t for the life of him discern. He knew only that it was important. “And I shall see a hall gleaming brighter than the sun, bedecked in gold.”</p><p>    Before Gavin could ask her to elaborate, Áslaug was gone and they had arrived at the tent. He looked at Reginnvaldr for some hint, but received only a chuckle in return. “The moment I understand my mother is the moment the Jǫrmungandr tries to devour the world.” Without a word more, they entered the tent, Áslaug’s strangeness left at the threshold.</p><p>    The tent was well lit, a great brazier sat in the center, with tables and chairs forming a semi-circle around it. Ivar, Meg, and Jack were already seated, conversing quietly with Mardǫll who sat at another table beside her advisors. Gavin and Val were quick to take their seats next to Ivar, and needed to wait only moments before Jornand and Eiríkr arrived. Gavin wrung his hands anxiously, but his worry was misplaced.</p><p>    The diplomatic aspects of the <em>þing</em> were astoundingly different from any experience with negotiations or diplomacy Gavin had ever had before. Sitting in wooden chairs at tables so formally, Gavin had expected some blend of Northumbrian politics and the memories of the peace talks with Eyesteinn. Instead he found the <em>þing </em>to be full of friendliness and camaraderie. </p><p>    “And there I was,” Jornand said emphatically, turning to his mate with a look of befuddlement. “Losing my mind looking for him, and where was he? In the monastery’s latrines eating sugar! Eating sugar! Do you know how much we could have done with that sugar, Eiríkr? How much we could have sold it for?”</p><p>    “Big dog’s gotta eat,” came Eiríkr’s reply. Gavin cackled along with the others at the nonsense and Jornand’s horrified look.</p><p>    “Eat <em>sugar</em>?!” He yelled, waving his hands around. </p><p>    Mardǫll snorted and shook her head. “Omegas always have a taste for sweets,” she commented lightly. “I’d say it’s more your fault for thinking he <em>wouldn’t</em> eat the sugar than it was his fault for eating it.”</p><p>    “Thank you!” Eiríkr cried, nodding vehemently. “What she said! What she said.”</p><p>    Gavin leaned in to Reginnvaldr and whispered to him. “Is Eiríkr an omega? I couldn’t smell him, I thought he was a beta.”</p><p>    “I- I don't honestly know, I thought he was an alpha,” Reginnvaldr replied quietly and sounding just as confused as Gavin felt. They shared a private laugh over it while Jornand and Eiríkr continued to bicker loudly. It was nice, Gavin thought, to tell each other stories before they set about the war talks. A bit of levity to remind them what they were fighting for. Gavin grinned as Mardǫll began regaling them with a story involving a half-barrel of wine, a Frankish prostitute, and naked sword fighting. This would be okay, they would be okay.
</p><p>    After nearly two hours of stories and laughter, Jornand was the one to suggest beginning the grimmer side of things. “We know that we’ve been summoned here to discuss war, Reginnvaldr, but no more than that,” he smirked good-naturedly. “Your summons are as brief as they are intriguing, but we should expect nothing else from you, should we.”</p><p>    “Though I hate to break up revelry, you're right. There are a great many things we need to discuss, the greatest of which is why I called this <em>þing.</em>” Reginnvaldr sighed heavily and fixed Jornand, Mardǫll, and Eiríkr each with a serious look. “We’re at war. Eyesteinn, king of the Síbilja clan, commander of the dread cow, attempted to sack Ribe and kill us all. He was very nearly successful,” he let the statement hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “We managed to beat him back, but not without a good part of Ribe burning to the ground and some of my men dead. My war party and I have been chasing him for close to a year now, but to no avail. For every man we kill, two more are bewitched by the dread cow and fight in his stead.</p><p>    “What we need is your aid, your arms. We plan to take the battle to Eyesteinn himself, no more fruitless chase and lying in wait. With your arms, we could eliminate him as a threat, feed ourselves for years on his coin, and finally have some sense of peace here.”</p><p>    Gavin refrained from smiling, considering the circumstances, but gave Val’s hand a congratulatory squeeze under the table. He was a good speaker and Gavin knew his points would be well received. They’d be able to spend the rest of the <em>þing </em>strategizing amidst stories and ale and be home shortly enough. He was certain of it.</p><p>    The silence that dragged on in the wake of Reginnvaldr’s words suggested otherwise.</p><p>    “I hate to be the one to say it, Reginnvaldr,” Mardǫll eventually said, looking serious, like she meant it. “But how do you expect to lead us in this?” She looked around at the silent group before continuing. “You’re a good man, and that’s a rare thing to find, I’ll give you that much. But by your own admission, you <em>lost</em> the one battle you’ve had. You lost to Eyesteinn.”</p><p>    “We’ve had great successes battling the forces to the south,” Reginnvaldr replied calmly, but Gavin, sitting so close beside him, could feel him stiffening. “For the past seven years, we haven’t lost a single fighter while raiding, and we’ve attacked far more than cowering monks.”</p><p>    “You have <em>raided</em>,” Mardǫll repeated, emphasizing the word and raising her eyebrows. “You know as well as I, as well as Jornand, and Eiríkr, and every other Dane in this land that facing an equal in battle is far rougher than cutting down the old noblemen and sickly monks of the south. And Eyesteinn knows it too.”</p><p>    “Aye,” Jornand agreed, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Far rougher indeed. Reginnvaldr, your name—your mother’s name, your father’s name—commands a great deal of respect throughout Jutland and the known world,” he sighed heavily and scrubbed his hand over his face, as if making his point alone had exhausted him. “But you're asking us to dedicate our lives, our men’s lives, to what? Faith? Hope? Some farfetched desperation and a prayer?” Jornand shook his head, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “No, you’re a good man Reginnvaldr, but I won't be part of it. This is your feud and its ending rests on your shoulders.”</p><p>    “The same for us,” Mardǫll agreed. She looked upon them with a gaze full of pity, but her lips were pressed together thinly. It made Gavin’s stomach turn, it made his throat tighten and his eyes burn. He ran a hand through his hair only to find that it was shaking. He balled his hands into fists, but the shaking hardly lessened. </p><p>    “I…” Reginnvaldr seemed to be at a loss, face pale, eyes worried. “I—“</p><p>    “You’re war-wary says I!” Gavin yelled so suddenly he shocked even himself. He hadn't meant to speak, but he had. He hadn’t meant to move, but he’d leapt to his feet in his upset and his hands shook visibly at his sides, still balled into fists. The knowledge that he was shaking only angered him further. “Look at you, calling yourselves warlords! Shall we promote the kitchen boy next? How about the nursing babe? Seems they’ll give anyone a title like that nowadays.” Shocked silence met his declaration and when Gavin looked around the room, it was to slack-jawed faces and wide eyes. </p><p>    “Reginnvaldr-fœða, this is entirely—“</p><p>    “My name is Gavin,” he said lowly, cutting off whatever platitude or complaint Mardǫll began to offer. She fixed him with narrowed eyes and a heavy frown. “And you will sit there and <em>listen</em>.” He slammed his hands on the wooden table, vindication filling his veins at the bang. He felt like he was full of lightning. </p><p>    Gavin took a shaky breath. When he spoke, he scarcely recognized his own voice it was so imbued with danger and intensity. “The fire burns bright when your skálds tell tales of the heroes of old, but the moment you yourself need to pick up arms, you cower in your chairs like children.”</p><p>    “Gav—“ Jack began, but cut himself off when Gavin’s eyes flashed his way.</p><p>    “What becomes of you, after Eyesteinn destroys Ribe and wipes the Volsungs from this earth? Do you imagine he’ll grant you mercy, letting you grow old and fat off your crops and cattle?” Gavin scoffed, the sound high and cruel, prompting gooseflesh to erupt on his own skin. He sounded nothing like himself, felt nothing like himself. He felt like a man possessed. “Do you imagine his dread cow, with its terrible song, will stop at your borders? I think not.</p><p>    “No, I think instead you’ll starve as he gluts himself on your crops and his dread beast keeps you cowed and docile inside. I think your last breaths will be spent wondering why you left your kinsmen to die like cowards. You’ll have brought it on yourselves.”</p><p>    Gavin straightened and strode to the center of the <em>þing. </em>His hands did not shake. He stopped just before Mardǫll, too close to be polite, but too far to be a physical threat. “And where do you think you’ll go when you die? Having condemned the last sons of Oðinn for your cowardice? Where do the wicked go, warlord? Can you say with certainty what death holds for you?” Gavin scoffed and made eye contact so direct and insistent that Mardǫll recoiled. “But I suppose it is expected, for those unfit for vigorous deeds to be unsparing in their use of the tongue.”</p><p>    Jornand got to his own feet then, a heavy frown on his face. “So you say, <em>Gavin</em>, and yet all I’ve seen of <em>you</em> is your use of the tongue.”</p><p>    “Better to wield the sword than the tongue, it’s true, but better to wield the tongue than to wield nothing,” Gavin countered smoothly. He wasn’t sure where his words were coming from, but they were coming, pouring out his mouth like water over a cliff. He couldn’t make it stop, his tongue danced and moved in foreign ways, shaping the words without any direction. “And it’s quite the misstep to presume I know not how to wield the sword.”</p><p>    Silence met him. He wanted to continue, to open his mouth and let the waterfall of words cascade out his mouth and shame their supposed allies into sending aid. He wanted them to know the depth of his anger. It was Reginnvaldr’s hand on his shoulder that stilled him. </p><p>    “I think it best if we reconvene after supper,” he said, voice steady and calm. “We could all use a break.”</p><p>    “And a drink,” Jornand grumbled. He was still frowning harshly, but relaxed in light of Reginnvaldr's words. Gavin felt quite the opposite. How dare they obey Reginnvaldr in this but refuse their arms in aid?</p><p>    The moment the grand tent emptied of the other clans, Gavin let out a shaky exhale and immediately sat where he stood, suddenly exhausted. He let his elbows press into his knees and held his head in his hands. He could hear Reginnvaldr politely commanding the others to leave, which they did despite the combination of worried scents that invaded his nose. Gavin couldn’t blame them, if Jack or Meg had suddenly gone off on other lords, he’d have been similarly concerned.</p><p>    “Harsh tongue,” Ivar said as he awaited his bearers. “Where did you learn to speak like that?”</p><p>    “Not now, Ivar,” Reginnvaldr nearly growled at his brother. Gavin tried waving Reginnvaldr off, but all his hand did was flop around aimlessly before resettling to support his head.</p><p>    “I dare say I haven’t heard a whetting like that since mother.”</p><p>    “I said <em>not now</em>, Ivar.” Reginnvaldr’s voice was quiet and dangerous, and Gavin thanked the gods that Ivar’s bearers finally arrived to carry him out. He didn’t think he could deal with more conflict after his outburst. </p><p>    Finally alone in the tent, Reginnvaldr crouched beside him. Gavin peered up through tired eyes, but could only see the fabric of Reginnvaldr’s tunic. He could smell him though. He smelled angry.</p><p>    “‘ya mad?” Gavin asked, leaning towards Reginnvaldr to nuzzle, neck bared in an act of appeasement.</p><p>    “No,” Reginnvaldr said, but he pulled away from Gavin anyways. Gavin felt the rejection weigh painfully on his heart, but he managed to keep his scent and instinctual whine to himself. They were silent for a moment, the crackling of the center fire the only thing filling the increasingly uncomfortable tension.</p><p>    “Sorry I yelled at everyone,” Gavin eventually said, not looking at Reginnvaldr. Maybe it was cowardly, but he couldn’t bear to see Reginnvaldr’s eyes, to see what expression accompanied his burnt scent. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr’s reply was a sigh. He straightened up and, without looking at Gavin, pulled him to his feet so they were both standing. And then promptly marched out of the tent without waiting to see if Gavin followed. </p><p>    A sense of panic and rejection flooded Gavin so quickly his head was spinning. He would have fallen to the ground again were it not for a pair of warm, gentle hands unexpectedly steadying him. </p><p>    “There we are, little hawk,” Áslaug said soothingly. “Let’s take a walk, shall we?” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Question for you all: Noel and I have been toying with adding a completely unnecessary Gav/Val fight-sex scene in one of the future chapters. What are people's thoughts on adding another sex scene? Too much smut, not enough smut? Let me know what you think!</p><p>Historical Shenanigans: </p><p>1) Eric giving Gav a spiced roll was inspired from that one RT Pancake Podcast where he gave Gavin the spicy pancake and then ate the rest himself without flinching after Gavin rejected it. King. Also since there aren't records of pancakes in medieval Denmark, I substituted it for Æbleskiver, a traditional Danish variant.</p><p>2) ÁSLAUG! Aka, my one and only. I stan Áslaug harder that anyone else. She frequently quotes the Seeress's Prophecy poem from the Poetic Edda, gnomic poetry, and often whetting prose too... ;)</p><p>3) Two of Gavin's own whetting lines were taken from Bjargey's goading in the Hdvaroar saga: "But I suppose it is expected, for those unfit for vigorous deeds to be unsparing in their use of the tongue.” and "“Better to wield the sword than the tongue, it’s true, but better to wield the tongue than to wield nothing" which is just metal as hell.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Forever grateful to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a> for editing, and for all of you wonderful people who are still enjoying!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 20</p><p>Gavin wasn’t sure when she arrived, nor what she meant to do, but he let her lead him outside and marched him eastward. He stumbled on shaky legs as he walked, but Áslaug’s surprisingly strong hands kept him upright and they made it across the barrow to her camp before long. No one paid them any mind, and with naught but a nod, Áslaug’s attendant made herself scarce. It was only the two of them in her tent.</p><p>    It was nicely sized, smaller than his own, but richly furnished considering how brief the <em>þing </em>was meant to be. The furs under Gavin's feet were black and iridescent and the hair gracing them was so long that Gavin could feel it brushing his ankles. From one of the ridgepoles, a string of pots and bowls hung in braided strands of rope. They swayed gently from their hangings despite the still air inside the tent.</p><p>    “There we are,” Áslaug said from behind Gavin. When he turned to face her, it was to see her illuminated by several candles he couldn’t recall hearing her light. “How about you sit down and I’ll find something to help you feel better, hm?”</p><p>    He obeyed without a second thought and found that the iridescent fur was softer than it looked. It felt like velvet beneath his palms and Gavin took to running his hands over it in awe, watching the black fur glimmer every color imaginable as it caught the light. He looked up when Áslaug sat in front of him. </p><p>    “Take this,” she said gently, pushing something into his hands. “Casting one more rune your way today won't hurt anything.” </p><p>    Gavin turned the object over and saw Áslaug had given him. It was a pebble, perfectly smooth and unextraordinary save for a symbol painted upon its surface in a dark brown. He could recognize it as a runic letter, but couldn’t for the life of him discern its meaning. When he looked back up to Áslaug, she was smiling at him and had two cups in her hands that certainly weren't there before, both steaming from their contents.</p><p>    “Drink.”</p><p>    Gavin obeyed and almost instantly felt the warmth of the tea spread out from his stomach to the tips of his fingers and toes. He shuddered at the sensation and took another sip. He’d drunk half of the tea before Áslaug spoke again.</p><p>    “I’m afraid I’m to blame for this afternoon,” she said. “I was overzealous in my casting of the runes.” She ran a finger around the rim of her cup, steam following her movements in a concentrated stream. </p><p>    “I’m sorry, what?” Gavin asked when Áslaug failed to elaborate. </p><p>    She looked him dead in the eyes and it would have been unnerving were it not for the kindness and age lined in her face. “You were a carrier of tales weren’t you? Battle-tongue delving into a hoard of words, whetting the cowardice of those wary thanes. Little hawk, little ring-adorned boy, you’re the peace-weaver of the south, but too will weave a peace for us here won’t you?”</p><p>    Gavin blinked “I understand about half of those words,” he joked, trying to lighten the sudden heaviness floating around them. He wasn’t anything, he wasn’t special, and he certainly wasn’t whatever it was Áslaug said he was. </p><p>    Áslaug laughed, the sound clear like a bell, and shook her head. “Perhaps not, but you feel them don’t you?” Without awaiting a reply, she continued. “You’re feeling better now aren’t you? Yes, I can see the color in your cheeks again. You’re unused to the runes, but you’ll get there.”</p><p>    “Er,” Gavin shook his hand holding the pebble. “You mean the rock?” What there was to get used to he didn’t understand. It was a <em>rock</em>.</p><p>    Áslaug only smiled and gestured for Gavin to drink again. After a long draught, she took his cup again and grasped his hands with her own. “It’s been one of my greatest sadnesses and my greatest joys that I mothered only alphas. I suspect my ancestry would allow for nothing else, but I did long for an omegean child so that I might teach them to soothsay.”</p><p>    “Er, Mjǫll has an omega mate. Why not teach her?”</p><p>    “Oh yes, Hlaðgerðr. She’s quite lovely, isn’t she? But no, I cannot teach Hlaðgerðr anything. She does not have any affinity for it and what’s more I suspect I could not teach her even if she did. I adore my darling Mjǫll, my precious alpha daughter, but she is not my blood though I love her just as dearly. She, and as such her mate, aren't privy to the secret words I know even if I desperately wish they were.”</p><p>    Áslaug left Gavin to digest that information and rose from the floor, motioning for him to stay. She strode to her richly covered bed, took a flat and ornately carved distaff from where it leaned against her bed, and opened a chest to retrieve a batt of clean, raw wool. Áslaug returned to Gavin and carefully laid the roll of wool on the shimmery pelt.</p><p>    “Will you let me teach you to spin.” It wasn’t a question.</p><p>    “Er, yes? Of course,” Gavin replied. He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on between Áslaug’s fixation with rocks and her incomprehensible poetry, but he wasn’t about to stop her.</p><p>    “We keep the wool rolled,” she began, rubbing the wool and plucking invisible imperfections from it. “And bind him tightly with his collar.” Áslaug wound a strip of cloth tightly around the wool and distaff. A few inches of wool remained unbound at the bottom. “From here we use our staff like a third hand.” She plucked a wooden tool from her belt and moved the distaff to rest against her body under her belt. Then she fed a thin tendril of wool on to the wooden tool. The tool, a spindle stick, Gavin realized, began spinning quickly as Áslaug pulled at the batt of wool and manipulated it into a sturdy strand of thread. </p><p>    The spinning spindle stick was mesmerizing and Gavin wasn’t sure how it kept its spinning momentum amidst Áslaug’s pulling. It wasn’t long before she had several inches of woolen thread atop the spindle stick. </p><p>    “That’s brilliant!” Gavin exclaimed, taking note of how Áslaug turned the spindle stick upside down to transfer the newly spun thread to further down the tool. </p><p>    “It’s quite relaxing,” she replied with a smile. She carefully removed the distaff from her belt and handed it to Gavin. “Now show me.”</p><p>    Gavin had about a million questions but Áslaug’s expectant expression and gentle smile had him reaching for the distaff and placing it in his own belt. His fingers fumbled, clumsy trying to handle the wool, distaff, and spindle stick all at once. The strand of wool spun, just as it did for Áslaug, but his thread was thick and lumpy. </p><p>    “I’m not very good at this,” Gavin said, almost feeling like he had to. Áslaug only smiled at him. </p><p>    “You will be,” she was silent for a beat. “And it’s a useful skill to have and what's more, you can tell any alpha that you need to go spin wool and they’ll leave you be, no matter how badly they wish to pull your hair and pinch your ass.” The way she said it was playful, but Gavin blushed at her words nonetheless. </p><p>    When he had spun about half a foot of thread, Áslaug stayed his hand and showed him how to wind the thread on the spindle. “Excellent,” she said. “Now spin me three feet more.” She rose from her place and quickly returned to the floor, a small but complicated looking loom at her feet. At Gavin’s puzzled look she shook her head.</p><p>    “One thing at a time, little hawk. You can find patterns in the loom soon enough, but master the cord first. It does you no good to split your attention two ways and do both things poorly.”</p><p>    That made sense, Gavin supposed, and so he focused on spinning the wool. It was difficult to keep his thread the same width throughout, as Áslaug had. At points his thread was twice the width of an ordinary strand and at others, it was so thin he worried it would snap. Áslaug never stopped him though, just wove strands of dyed thread on the little loom and offered him encouraging smiles when she looked his way. </p><p>    Nearly an hour later, Gavin finally had his three feet of thread. It was embarrassingly evident where his shoddy three feet ended and Áslaug’s few, clean and even inches began on the spindle, but he tried to feel proud of his work nonetheless.</p><p>    “Well done,” Áslaug said, and despite her warm, maternal tone, she sounded honest. “You’ll be spinning the sheep bare before we can blink.”</p><p>    “Thanks for teaching me,” Gavin said quietly, shoulders tensing. At the wool batt being nearly bare, and his three feet complete, anxiety filled him. It was likely time for him to leave Áslaug in peace and apologize to Reginnvaldr and the other lords. He could think of few things he wanted to do less.</p><p>    “I’m not done teaching you yet,” Áslaug replied and smiled when Gavin’s shoulders relaxed. “Now unwind that cord and hold it in your hand.” Once he had done so, she stood, gesturing for Gavin to do the same. “Now cast it to the ground.”</p><p>    Gavin grimaced and gave Áslaug a look. He’d just spent the better part of an hour winding the stuff! Throwing it on the ground after all that hard work was liable to have it tangled and torn, and Gavin wasn’t sure he could handle that at the moment. </p><p>    She laughed at his expression. “I will help you wind it back up again. Cast it on the ground.” Despite the kindness in her voice, it was a command and a strong one at that. Gavin felt himself straightening up without meaning to. With one last glance to Áslaug, he raised his fist of thread up and threw it down. </p><p>    Time slowed to a near halt and Gavin could see the cord unravel unnaturally in the air as it fell down to that iridescent pelt. It was wool, it should have acted like wool, but it didn’t. It glimmered, like he had woven sand and precious gems in with the thread, reflecting candlelight and nearly blinding Gavin with its shine. The cord twisted and seemed to jump around itself as it fell, rearranging from a tangled ball into indecipherable shapes. When the thread finally hit the pelt it rang out like a bell, high and clear.</p><p>    With a great shuddering breath, Gavin came back into himself, time seeming to resume its normal speed. The woolen thread sat innocuously on the pelt, no shine to it, no noise coming from it. Disregarding the strange shape it fell in, it was perfectly ordinary—if poorly spun—thread. </p><p>    “Well done,” Áslaug praised and Gavin jumped. He had forgotten she was there. “You’re quite good for having never done this before. Now let’s see what your cord says.”</p><p>    Gavin couldn’t tell anything from the thread, only that it lay in a way it shouldn’t have. It was angular, with overlapping sections of string wrapped around each other like they’d been braided. They had most certainly not been braided. </p><p>    “Here is Þurs,” Áslaug said, pointing to a letter that looked similar to the Latin P. Gavin vaguely recognized it from the carvings Val sent. “But we already knew that didn’t we? Danger lurks around the corner when you court trouble, and both you and my son attract it more than anyone else I know.”</p><p>    She pointed to another patch of thread, fingers almost grazing the wool. “Maðr, as expected, alpha. The morality of man. And you certainly strike me as a moral man, little hawk. Ah, and here it is wound against omega, Ár.” Her hand moved to hover over another patch of string, tightly wound against the first patch. </p><p>    “Er, how can you tell which is which?” Gavin asked, hesitant to break the contemplation and gentleness, but lost beyond belief. Áslaug was not a woman you doubted, you could feel from her bearing that there was something different about her, but Gavin wanted to know. Needed to know. </p><p>    “Practice,” came the answer, and Áslaug’s hand drifted to the last patch of thread. She paused, just before her hand could hover directly over it. “Give me your hand.”</p><p>    Gavin obeyed and she moved his hand to hover in her stead. His hand grew heavy and warm, like it was covered by dozens of blankets, and he let it drift closer to the wool, barely keeping it from touching. His hand was drawn to the thread, some unseen force pulling him closer and closer. He barely noticed it start to shake.</p><p>    “Óss,” Áslaug whispered. She sounded reverent and distant, but Gavin couldn’t tear his eyes away from the thread to see. “Oðinn’s rune. Curious too, that it should come up so soon after I first cast it your way. Perhaps it sees something in you it likes.”</p><p>    Gavin didn’t bother asking for clarification, certain he wouldn’t get it, and instead looked at the thread beneath his shaking hand. It had fallen to look like a crooked tree, he thought, with little branches at an angle. The wool shimmered and Gavin blinked to dispel the sudden blurriness plaguing his eyes. His hand grew heavier, and without meaning to, his hand brushed the wool. </p><p>    Heat rushed through him like lighting, making him gasp and jerk his hand back from the thread. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, heart pounding like he’d been scared out of a doze. He struggled to catch his breath, lungs inhaling, but air trapped in his throat. He felt like how he did when Michael knocked the air out of him during sparring. </p><p>    Áslaug was unperturbed. “It happened my first time too, the runes call out to us, don’t they?”</p><p>    Gavin nodded, feeling too disoriented to form words. He watched mutely as Áslaug plucked one end of the thread and expertly wound it around itself until the tingling had disappeared and all that remained of the runes was a little ball of woolen thread. She held it out and dropped the little ball in his palm.</p><p>    “You have fire in your veins, little hawk,” she said. “Don’t feel sorrow for it, rejoice.”</p><p>    “I don’t have much of anything it feels like,” Gavin managed to whisper.</p><p>    “I used to feel that way too, back when Ragnar—Reginnvaldr’s father—first found me. I thought, there’s no use in falling for a man like that, cocky and broad. I was just a little crow that dressed in rags. But just like you, I had fire in my veins, and I let it run rampant.”</p><p>    “I don’t—“</p><p>    “You do!” Áslaug said vehemently, cutting him off. “You’ve got fire and magic inside you, just waiting to get let out. Don’t you feel it? Vibrating under your skin? It’s like lightning isn’t it?”</p><p>     Gavin opened his mouth to deny it on instinct, feeling embarrassed over the attention and insistence that he was special, but Áslaug’s words made him pause. It <em>did</em> feel like there was lightning under his skin, even before he spun the wool. He remembered how it felt to swing an axe during training, how the scent of his upset made Val recoil, the restlessness after they quarreled. He remembered how words flowed beyond his control in the <em>þing </em>tent, how his hands tingled like there was something beneath the surface.</p><p>    “It is,” Gavin finally replied, voice small and unsure. Áslaug smiled approvingly at him and rose to her feet, pulling Gavin up with a surprising show of strength.</p><p>    “Excellent,” she said. She pulled him to the little table set up beside the tent’s ridgepole. Two little wooden cups, no taller than Gavin’s thumb, sat innocuously on its surface. “Now, you’re going to drink this,” she passed him one of the tiny cups. It was empty. “You’re going to go back outside,” she threw her empty cup to her lips and swallowed. “And I’m going to watch you spar.”</p><p>    Gavin nodded vigorously and brought the cup to his lips. He already knew it would be full. </p><p>⁂</p><p>    It was a very mild day outside, which Gavin was immeasurably grateful for. The heavy cloth gambeson he donned on top of his tunic was already warm; had it been summertime, he’d be melting.</p><p>    He wasn’t entirely sure who he’d be fighting, Michael was likely unwilling to part from Jack, and he was hesitant to bother Meg with such a trifling matter. His unasked question was easily answered, however, when Áslaug led him to a lightly armored Ivar.</p><p>    “No, no, no, no, no,” he said quickly when he realized her plan. Áslaug just laughed and continued dragging Gavin to a less grassy and quite level patch in the meadow, just between Reginnvaldr’s camp and Mardǫll’s camp.</p><p>    “Why, my dear raven, we were just looking for you,” Áslaug greeted her eldest son. “How fortunate you are already here.”</p><p>    “Yes, yes, I got a feeling,” Ivar replied dryly, but he smiled at his mother when he said it. “No escaping it whenever you want something.”</p><p>    He looked Gavin up and down, smile evaporating and his usual gruff calculation replacing it. Gavin did his best not to cringe at the look. He’d made a fool of himself enough in front of Ivar. To have spoken so inappropriately to other leaders was likely not an improvement on top of greeting him late after a mating heat <em>and </em>accidentally <em>berseking</em> in front of him. Gavin chewed on the inside of his lip.</p><p>    “Well, have you got an axe?” Was what he said. Gavin blinked.</p><p>    “I seem to remember bringing one,” Áslaug answered for him, a dreamy look on her face. She reached behind herself and pulled an axe from her belt. “This should do nicely, I believe it’s even the one you favor.”</p><p>    “I’m not sure about this,” Gavin whispered, taking the proffered—and indeed preferred—training axe. At Áslaug’s lack of reply and Ivar’s perpetually unreadable face, he looked to one of his bearers who shrugged with his free shoulder. </p><p>    “Now I didn’t ask Egill or Bjárr here to armor up,” Ivar said. “So you keep them out of it.”</p><p>    “Of course.”</p><p>    “Good, now get over here and let me see what you can do, <em>svinfylking</em>.”</p><p>    With one last glance at Áslaug, Gavin stepped forward to meet Ivar. He wasn’t in a chair, or carried alone like how Gavin had seen before. Instead, Ivar was sitting atop a rounded, almost bowl-like shield. His eyes were closed and he inhaled heavily before his eyes snapped open.</p><p>    Gavin barely dodged the first blow, only just parried the second, and nearly lost his axe in blocking the third. Ivar was a brutal fighter and his bearers moved with him so fluidly that Gavin was having a hard time keeping up. He’d never had such a hard time in training with Michael and Jeremy. Ivar pushed relentlessly at every opportunity, drawing from a seemingly endless pool of energy while Gavin panted hard and felt his knuckles creak on his axe. He was distantly grateful that they weren’t using shields because Gavin was sure that he would have exhausted himself already if they had.</p><p>    “Come on!” Ivar shouted, sounding furious. “I’ve seen you fight! You’re not fighting now, you’re playing pretend!” His next swing caught Gavin’s right forearm. Gavin shouted in pain and surprise and quickly darted back to rub the already forming bruise. Ivar growled. “Wasting my time? Show me a fight! Show me a fight!” </p><p>    Ivar advanced on Gavin, who darted away again, only slightly faster than Ivar and his bearers. “Coward! I said you were worthy of my brother, should I take it back?”</p><p>    Gavin growled, the sound much sharper than he was used to making, and it hurt his throat to tear out of him so intensely. He knew Ivar was baiting him, but that didn’t stop the fury from building. He needed to focus, or he was liable to make more mistakes.</p><p>    Steel clattered against itself as he parried another blow. If this were real, Gavin thought, evading another strike, he would try taking out Ivar’s bearers first. It was nearly impossible to get a blow on Ivar with his height advantage. </p><p>    The thought struck him immediately and before he could realize what a stupid decision it was, Gavin slid on his knees underneath Ivar’s sitting shield and leapt to his feet, shoving up with all his strength. </p><p>    Ivar shouted again, this time in surprise as he was jostled from his position and was still righting himself when Gavin darted back and slammed his axe into Ivar’s side. </p><p>    Gavin was only slightly ashamed of the satisfaction that Ivar’s resulting cry of pain brought him. </p><p>    Delighted clapping and laughter brought Gavin out of the battle and he looked back to see Áslaug clapping excitedly at the scene. “Excellent job!” She called, approaching them. “Ivar, darling, it was foolish to think that just because your bearers were off limits didn’t mean your shield was.”</p><p>    Ivar waved her off, rubbing at his side with a grimace. “If this was a real battle, Egill and Bjárr would have fought him off.”</p><p>    “But it wasn’t a real battle, and Gavin did quite well.”</p><p>    “He got in one hit,” Ivar grumbled, but he nodded at Gavin. “You did well, but not what I was hoping for. I wanted to see you berserk again.”</p><p>    Gavin gave him a look, still panting hard from the fight. He hadn’t thought himself a <em>good</em> fighter, per say, but he’d thought he would have done at least a little better. </p><p>    “Is that why you were goading like that?” Áslaug asked disapprovingly. Gavin assumed she was going to berate Ivar for taunting him. “Why, I can whet better than that in my sleep! Goodness, use that mind you claim is great and put some effort in, my darling raven.”</p><p>    “If you’re so good, then you do it, mother!”</p><p>    “I shall!” They had drawn a small crowd by this point, no doubt attracted by the clattering of steel and raised voices. Gavin spotted Michael and Jack among them and waved his axe at them. At his movement, Áslaug’s eyes lit up and he noticed Jack and Michael immediately turn around and jog towards his tent.</p><p>    “Now, I want to see you with a shield, little hawk,” she said, much more loudly than she spoke when it was just them. She gave an exaggerated look around the crowd and grinned. “Yes thank you, that will do nicely.”</p><p>    Jack and Michael had returned, Gavin’s preferred practice shield in Jack’s hand, and a big green shield in Michael’s. They looked only somewhat confused at having felt the need to fetch shields, but passed them to Gavin and Ivar without comment. </p><p>    Gavin found the familiar weight of the wood and the familiar divots in the grip reassuring, though nothing could make him feel more confident in fighting Ivar. The man was already nigh impossible to hit, giving him a shield that more than covered his entire seated body was likely to end with Gavin bruised both physically and by ego.</p><p>    “Let’s see a good fight this time,” Áslaug said. She lowered her voice until only Gavin could hear. “Feel that fury, feel that righteousness. Feel that fire. You won’t win any war by being the most well liked or the most placid. How do you win a war, Gavin of the North?”</p><p>    The title sent a shock of electricity down his spine. “By fighting.”</p><p>    “By fighting. By being furious, and loud, and challenging every bastard that dares question you,” she gripped Gavin’s shoulder so hard it ached, and he could feel her short nails through even the cloth gambeson. “You win a war by showing everyone the fire raging under your skin.” Her nails pierced his skin and he could feel that fire bubbling to the surface as he bled. Gavin inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, and when he opened them, he could feel that fire race down to his hands, igniting his fingers, the hair on his arm, the skin stretched taut around his elbows. </p><p>    He gave a high pitched, rumbling growl, sounding uncanny even to his own ears, and slammed his axe against his shield. The world slowly melted away, the edges of his vision becoming darker, Ivar and his bearers becoming sharper. It was almost hard to look at, but Gavin felt distant enough that it wasn’t overly bothersome.</p><p>    He rolled his shoulders and advanced on Ivar, eerie rolling growl still sounding. He popped his shield out against Ivar’s, and it was on.</p><p>    Gavin felt clearer headed than he had when he'd first entered a trance, but certainly didn’t think himself in his right mind. It was easier to notice the battle, to strategize to some extent, but anything outside of Ivar, his bearers, and their next move was beyond Gavin’s grasp. He scarcely remembered how the sparring matches had started. All that mattered was the fire rushing in his veins and Ivar’s axe swinging in an arc over his head.</p><p>    Ivar’s axe grazed his left shoulder, Gavin's shield just the smallest bit too slow to block the blow, forcing him to retreat several paces. He could feel the fire race to the bruising skin, licking little trails of flame and power up his body until he thought his shoulder might actually be alight. </p><p>    With a shout that had Ivar’s bearers jolting, Gavin ran at full sprint and leapt into the air, bringing both his shield and axe down on Ivar. Time slowed like it had when he fought Jeremy and Michael. He could feel the late spring breeze tickle his arm hair, could feel a bead of exertion drip off his neck, could see Ivar’s eyes widen in shock.</p><p>    And just as suddenly, time sped up again and Gavin’s axe landed a sharp blow against Ivar’s chest while his shield battered Ivar’s returning blow aside. Gavin landed on his feet, but stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet. When he regained his footing, the haze had lifted, and he was aware of everything again.</p><p>    Ivar’s axe was a few paces behind him and he was swearing while rubbing his chest tenderly. His bearers still looked surprised, and the one on the left was rubbing his shoulder like it was sore. Gavin could relate, his own shoulder was throbbing painfully and his hands felt blistered from how tightly he was clutching his arms.</p><p>    A delighted little clap had him turning to see Áslaug grinning. She strode to Gavin and gently pried the axe from his stiff and reluctant fingers. “I dare say you’re the winner, Gavin of Ribe,” she called, voice carrying throughout the barrow. Cheers and applause had Gavin glancing at the gathered crowd, shyness unexpectedly overcoming him. He fiddled with his shield to avoid looking at those gathered and was grateful when Áslaug pulled him forward. </p><p>    He was less grateful when she stopped him in front of a blank-faced Reginnvaldr. Gavin turned to give Áslaug a look, but she was nearly thirty paces away, walking alongside her attendant. When Gavin cleared his throat and made to follow her, Val’s hand shot out to grab his shoulder and Gavin had no choice but to turn back to his mate unless he wanted to fall. </p><p>    “Gav,” he started, but Gavin shook his head.</p><p>    “Let’s have this conversation in private.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr nodded and they began the walk back to their tents. Gavin started out dragging his feet, unwilling to have whatever conversation it was they were about to have, but he caught Mardǫll and Jornand watching him closely. They must have been in the gathered crowd. </p><p>    He moved much quicker after that, having no desire for his actions to be appraised by the cowardly lords. It did mean that they arrived at their tents much sooner than Gavin wanted. He’d had no time to even begin and order his thoughts.</p><p>    “Let me change into something clean first?” Gavin asked, half-joking. He sounded tired, even to his own ears, but Reginnvaldr didn't react aside from gesturing towards Gavin’s trunk. </p><p>    His tunic was peeled off, thankfully relatively unharmed aside from some dirt that was easily brushed off. The gambeson proved far dirtier and stuck to his skin with sweat. Gavin grimaced as he untied the garment and breathed a sigh of relief when the air hit his overheated skin. He spared a moment to hang the gambeson over his clothing chest, letting it air out. </p><p>    “What happened?” Reginnvaldr asked. Gavin opened his mouth to try and describe the runes Áslaug used and the need to goad their foolish lords into fighting, but Val’s gentle fingers brushing over his shoulder stopped his words. Gavin twisted his neck until he could see little red crescent moons standing out amidst a yellowing bruise on the meaty part of his shoulder.</p><p>    “Oh that, Ivar hit me there,” he said. “And before, Áslaug pinched me, or something.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr was silent, face neutral save the furrow between his brows. He worried his lips like he was chewing the words that didn’t want to leave his mouth. Despite his anxiety about what Reginnvaldr would say once he decided to say it, Gavin forced himself to turn away and continue to undress and wash the sweat and dirt from his body. There wasn’t a wash basin, nor pitcher in the tent, so he made do with a cloth and water from what must have been Reginnvaldr’s waterskin. </p><p>    After Gavin had thoroughly rid himself of grime, he settled on the bed, rolling his aching muscles, and stared at his still-silent mate. He certainly wasn’t going to be the first one to bring it up. If they had to talk about this, he was making Reginnvaldr initiate it.</p><p>    “Didn’t know you could fight like that,” he said after nearly ten minutes of silence.     Gavin let out a sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “How could you? You’ve been gone.” After the words left his mouth, he realized how cruel they sounded. They had been separated by necessity, he knew Val hadn’t wanted to be away for so long. “I’m sorry,” Gavin said. “I didn’t mean it like that, I meant…” He let his words fade away.</p><p>    “It’s okay.”</p><p>    More silence. Gavin resumed his ablutions, slipped into a fresh undertunic, and pulled his regal tunic back on. It would need a careful wash once they returned to Ribe, but would be fine for the rest of their time here. He had gone as far as to begin digging through his chest for the rich string of beads he'd received for Jól before Reginnvaldr decided to finally begin speaking.</p><p>    “I’m not angry,” he said, just as Gavin pulled the beads from the chest. Gavin slowly withdrew his hand from the chest and turned to face his mate. </p><p>    “You're not angry.” </p><p>    “No.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr looked frustrated with himself, lips pursed, frown intensifying. He gestured helplessly with his hands, little directionless, aborted movements and huffed. “You’re so good at speaking, Gav, and so <em>smart</em>. And you were <em>right</em>. But I just—“ he let out a frustrated growl and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not my father.”</p><p>    Gavin didn’t let the bemusement he felt show on his face and instead adopted a calm, neutral face. He shuffled closer to Reginnvaldr, close enough that his mate could reach out if he wanted. “Of course you’re not,” he said softly, aware that this was a delicate topic, but not sure why. </p><p>    “I’m not him, Gavin,” Reginnvaldr said again, more forcefully this time.</p><p>    “I didn’t think you were,” Gavin said lightly. He took a gamble and tried to lighten the mood. “I wouldn’t have wanted to mate your father, after all. Just you.” His gamble paid off when Val finally let his hands drop from his hair and released a long sigh. Gavin drew closer, so that he was just barely pressing into Reginnvaldr’s side, offering any comfort his mate wanted to take.</p><p>    “I love you,” Gavin whispered. Val wrapped an arm around him and squeezed him in tight. </p><p>    “I love you too.” Those simple words alleviated quite a bit of the stress and rejection that had been nagging Gavin since Reginnvaldr left him in the <em>þing</em> tent. He pressed more firmly into Reginnvaldr’s side and kissed his neck.</p><p>    They stood like that for a few minutes and Gavin was torn between letting them hug in silence and asking what Reginnvaldr had meant.. He was just about to ask when Val spoke.</p><p>    “I sometimes wish I’d been born to a cattle farmer. Or maybe some nameless warrior that died an unremarkable and half-forgotten death,” Gavin felt Reginnvaldr nuzzle into his hair and his next words were muffled. “Sometimes I hate being the son of Ragnar, the brother of Ivar, son of Áslaug. People…people <em>expect</em> things from me, and I don’t know if I can do those things.”</p><p>    Gavin reached around to hug Reginnvaldr properly, swaying them slightly. “You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “You don’t have to <em>be </em>anything. You just have to be Reginnvaldr.”</p><p>    “Reginnvaldr the timid who can’t even convince his own vassals to help him, Reginnvaldr who left his fated mate alone for half a year while chasing glory, who has to have the same mate stand up for him because he’s too much of a coward to do it himself,” Reginnvaldr retorted, tensing in Gavin’s and attempting to draw away. Gavin held on tighter, feeling his eyes fill with tears.</p><p>    “Reginnvaldr the strong,” Gavin said forcefully. “Who chased off his enemy even though he knew it would pain him. All because he wanted to keep his people safe. Reginnvaldr the king, who shows each man he comes across the same respect he’d show the gods themselves, the king who can speak and inspire those around him. Reginnvaldr my mate, who I love and will stand up for when he’s too polite to do it himself.”</p><p>    “I don’t—I shouldn’t <em>need</em> you to speak for me!” </p><p>    “Well it doesn’t matter if you should or shouldn’t, if you need it, I’m going to do it!”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr huffed, but at least stopped trying to pull away, which Gavin counted as a win. “What are they going to think of that? A king too cowardly to speak to his vassals so his omega speaks for him?”</p><p>    “How is it any different than when I told off  Eyesteinn?”</p><p>    “I—“ Reginnvaldr began, but then paused. When he spoke again he sounded tired. “It’s not.”</p><p>    “And if Jack had spoken? Or your mother? Would it have upset you this much?” Val tensed again and he curled around Gavin like he was worried <em>Gavin</em> would be the one to pull away now.</p><p>    “No,” he whispered. “I—Gavin, I’m supposed to be the one to provide for you, to protect you. To berate arrogant lords on <em>your</em> behalf, not the other way around.”</p><p>    So that was it, Gavin realized. It helped ease more of his upset. “Val,” he said gently. “We’re partners in this. I’ll yell at stuffy lords for you, just like you would for me. I’ll fight for you, just like you fight for me.”</p><p>    “My father—“</p><p>    “Isn’t you,” Gavin said, cutting him off. “And thank the gods for that. You’re much handsomer with your long hair and big beard.” He squeezed Val tighter. </p><p>    When Reginnvaldr next spoke, it was so soft that Gavin had to strain to hear him. “I hate that when people see me they only see him.” His voice turned bitter. “A son of Ragnar first and the king of Danmǫrk second.” He scoffed. “A little boy, playing at king.”</p><p>    The phrase sounded familiar but Gavin couldn’t place where he’d heard it. He didn't need to remember though, the venom in Val’s voice spoke to his pain. “You’re twenty times the man that they are,” Gavin said. “And thirty times the alpha.”</p><p>    Val buried his face in Gavin’s shoulder, bent so far down that Gavin distantly worried for the inevitable backache his mate would have. A shudder ran through Val and Gavin rubbed his back. “Those lords may have come for your name, for your mother, but if they won't fight for <em>you</em>, then they’re no lord of mine. Their vassalage is less than useless. We’ll win without them.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr gave a shaky laugh. “You sound so confident.”</p><p>    “Thanks to your mother’s runes no doubt,” Gavin teased. “The only thing I’m confident in is that I love you.” Reginnvaldr whined at that and it made Gavin smile. “That’s right, alpha-mine, I love you. I love <em>you</em>.” He pet Reginnvaldr’s hair, gently pulling on handfuls strands every so often to feel him shudder.</p><p>    “Bed?” Reginnvaldr asked and Gavin responded by tugging him over to their bed and lying him down. Gavin laid down and let Val rest his head on chest, playing with his hair all the while. “Gavin,” he said after a pause. “I’m sorry for getting so angry with you.”</p><p>    “And I’m sorry for speaking over you and goading your lords.”</p><p>    Val chuckled. “No need to apologize for goading them, I say they rightly deserved it. I… I <em>was</em> upset, but looking back, it was impressive.”</p><p>    “No longer the little waif from Northumbria am I?” Gavin teased, punctuating his playful question with a sharp tug on Reginnvaldr’s hair. Val’s sharp inhale made him smile.</p><p>    “Not by half,” came the rumbly reply. When Gavin glanced down, he saw heat in those bicolored eyes.</p><p>    “Must be disappointing,” Gavin said lightly, fighting—and losing—to conceal his smile. “That your little stolen treasure is so hardened and confident now.”</p><p>    With a lustful growl, Reginnvaldr rolled over and showed Gavin exactly how not-disappointed he was.
</p><p>⁂</p><p>    When they emerged from the tent, the sun was low in the sky. Gavin had made a half-hearted case at just staying where they were, wrapped up in each other and the bedfurs, but his stomach had demanded food. The campfire crackled merrily when they approached and Gavin took a hesitant seat beside his mate at the open log. Jack wordlessly pressed a bowl of fish stew into his hands which he accepted with a tight smile. He may have spoken to Reginnvaldr about it all, but he’d embarrassed his friends too and wasn’t sure how to apologize.</p><p>    “Pretty sure that was the best dressing-down I’ve ever heard,” Jack said after a beat.</p><p>    “Er, yeah,” Gavin said. He tapped his nails against the wooden bowl in lieu of looking at Jack. “Sorry that I went off like that.”</p><p>    “It was impressive.”</p><p>    “More than that, it was needed,” Reginnvaldr said, voice light but sincere. “Even the best of us need a good whetting now and then.” He shoved Gavin lightly and squeezed his thigh with his free hand. “Myself included.”</p><p>    Gavin gave a genuine smile then and leaned into Val. “Still, I’m sorry for making things harder.” He ignored the husky laugh and joke Val whispered about making certain other things harder and began to eat his stew. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Meg chimed in.</p><p>    “You know, if your whetting was enough to scare those lords off, I wouldn't want their aid. They’d sooner turn tail than fight against the kitchen boy wielding a chamberpot!”</p><p>    “It depends if the chamber pot is full or not, lord Mjǫll,” came the unexpected reply. Mardǫll was only a few feet behind Meg, looking as stoic and intense as even with arms crossed and eyes narrow. Despite her rejoinder, she offered no greetings and stared directly at Reginnvaldr and Gavin, completely silent. It was Val that broke first.</p><p>    “Well met, warlord.”</p><p>    Her eyes flickered to Gavin and her lips thinned. “No harsh words this evening, yfir-fœða?”</p><p>    Gavin regarded her calmly, much unlike his mate who growled. “Not tonight, warlord.”</p><p>    She sighed heavily and glanced back to Reginnvaldr. “We’ll fight in your war,” She smirked and looked at Meg. “Chamber pots or otherwise. Give my men a week to ready and another to travel.”</p><p>    “It's appreciated, warlord. We can discuss payment for your services in the morning.”</p><p>    Mardǫll nodded, inclined her head, and strode away, eventually disappearing into her camp. Gavin let out a shaky breath and heard several others do the same.</p><p>    “I wasn’t expecting that,” Jack said. He wasn’t bothering to hide his shock and his eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair. Each member seated around their fire wore similar expressions. Meg looked like she’d been hit over the head with Lindsay’s fire irons.</p><p>    “Nor was I,” Reginnvaldr said. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, thinking. “Why would she fight for us when she refused before?” Gavin gave his hand a squeeze. He was similarly baffled. By his estimation, Mardǫll had been the most unwilling of the lords. He’d thought they’d have more luck with Jornand and Eiríkr, if any luck at all.</p><p>    “I don’t trust it,” Michael said, ever the pessimist. Gavin thought about that for a moment, before dismissing it. Mardǫll’s words were genuine, if a bit reluctant.</p><p>    “That’s not it,” he said slowly, not sure how to explain the certainty he felt. “She meant it.”</p><p>    “Then why?” Jack asked. He didn’t look disbelieving, much to Gavin’s relief. At Gavin's answering shrug, Jack gave one of his own, but seemed to take Gavin’s word. Mardǫll didn’t seem the dishonorable type, but her sudden change of heart was disconcerting.</p><p>    “We can be grateful for her service without trusting her,” Meg said solemnly. “In any case, it wouldn’t hurt to question her tomorrow. Just to be sure.”</p><p>    “We’d better ask if they’d flee at the sign of chamberpots too,” Michael replied, immediately cackling at Meg’s protests. At the distraction, Val bent his head until his lips were at Gavin’s ear.</p><p>    “I already know why she changed her mind,” he whispered, gravely voice causing goosebumps to bloom on Gavin’s arms. “She saw you fighting and thought you were brilliant. Any sane lord would fight after seeing what you can do.”</p><p>    “Flatterer," Gavin breathed back, purposefully lilting his voice just to hear Reginnvaldr’s breath catch. “Would you fight for me after seeing what I can do?”</p><p>    Before Reginnvaldr could give what was no doubt a flirtatious rejoinder, someone cleared their throat.</p><p>    Jornand stood in the same place Mardǫll had only moments before. He looked leagues more nervous than the warlord had and when he spoke he sounded unsure. Eiríkr stood beside him looking entirely unconcerned with the political ongoings and far more interested in the roll he held in his hand.</p><p>    “Mardǫll just told me the news, that she’ll fight in your war,” Jornand said without bothering with a greeting. He fidgeted with the belt around his tunic.</p><p>    “Yes, she told us just moments ago,” said Reginnvaldr, straightening into a more polite posture. “I’ll admit surprise—Mardǫll is called <i>The Stubborn </i>for a reason after all—but she made the right decision. I’m glad to have her in this.”</p><p>    “Of course,” Jornand said. His eyes flickered to Gavin, looking at little confused. Gavin smiled at him with as much serenity as he could manage. Jornand quickly looked back to Reginnvaldr and cleared his throat.</p><p>    “Well I’ll be joining too,” he said. “You, er, and your yfir-fœða, were convincing. To say the least.” He opened his mouth as if to say more but closed it just as quickly.</p><p>    “We’re grateful for your aid,” Gavin said softly, a direct contrast to how he’d last spoken to Jornand. It seemed to work because the lord relaxed considerably. “Would you care for a drink?”</p><p>    “Please.”</p><p>    Eiríkr whooped in delight and immediately sat beside a confused looking Michael.</p><p>    “I am going to strike you,” Michael warned matter-of-factly. Eiríkr looked offended for all of one second before affixing the most saccharinely demure expression Gavin had ever seen. “You wouldn’t strike me, I’m little.” Michael stared blank faced at Eiríkr before collapsing into laughter.</p><p>    Rolling his eyes and ignoring the growing chaos, Gavin took the task upon himself and gave Jornand a study ceramic mug filled to the brim with a dark ale. He gave Jornand a mannerly nod and a small smile in thanks for joining them. Jornand returned the nod and in his eyes Gavin saw an awed sort of respect. It was the same kind of look Gavin had seen given to Áslaug.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to everyone who has stuck around this long! </p><p>Two historical facts today, one of which featured in my thesis:</p><p>1) Phrases like "carrier of tales" (inspiring singer/poet) or "word hoard" (vocabulary) are calling Kennings. They use figurative speech in place of simple nouns to add a little bit of dramatic flavor to Old Norse (and Old English!) poetry. You'll see an awful lot of them in Beowulf and in Odin's Poetic Edda appearances!</p><p>2) [This entire section is to be read with the same fervor of Charlie in the Pepe Silvia scene from Always Sunny:]<br/><i>Seiðr</i> as a word is associated with Old Norse/pre-Christian Scandinavian 'women's magic' (except 'women's magic' could be practiced by men, so a more accurate descriptor might be 'feminine magic'. It's a Debate (tm)) But the etymology has the word literally meaning "cord" or "string." So <i>seiðr</i> was 'women's magic' and who was mostly doing the weaving/textile arts for Viking society? Women. The distaff that Aslaug teaches Gavin to use is often pictured alongside sorceress/witch characters in Old Norse, therefore there's likely a connection between weaving/spinning and what constituted 'women's magic' in early medieval Scandinavia. Is there explicit proof? No (or, it at least hasn't been uncovered yet if there is.) But I feel it in my heart. If I were a Victorian scholar that would be enough to get published on. Alas, academia now requires proof and historiography. But *I* still know the truth.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey all! Apologies for the late update this week, my father had to be rushed to the hospital Thursday night and I've been a bit off-kilter since. I may have to take another 2 week break between the next chapter (talk about major cliff hangers!) so check my <a href="https://biowill.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> for info on that.<br/>As always thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlacrimae/pseuds/noxlacrimae">Noel</a> for the wonderful editing and reassuring me about the hastily added smut scene. To skip said scene, stop reading when Gav and Val begin sparring. Oh yeah baby, we finally get that sword fight sex.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 21</p><p>    The <em>þing</em> had ended rather quickly after that, with all relevant business resolved without much difficulty. Gavin was grateful to head back to Ribe, and delighted upon hearing Áslaug and her company would travel with them. Val had been excited too, much to Gavin’s amusement. He may have been an impressive man, all that bulk and beard, but around his mother, he was a touch more excitable, a touch sillier. It was endearing.</p><p>    Ribe had functioned without issue during their departure, though Geoff insisted that he would need at least a month before Jack and Michael went off again. Gavin readily agreed though he privately worried about how soon they planned to take the battle to Eyesteinn. Val and Ivar had argued about tactics and timing the entire ride home, much to Gavin’s exhausted consternation. </p><p>    <em>“I think it’d be best if we set up in the valley south of his keep in Østen,” Reginnvaldr said once night, pointing to an area on a land map sketched into the ground. </em></p><p>
  <em>    “He’d have the high ground,” said Ivar.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “Exactly, he wouldn’t expect us to disadvantage ourselves like that. We could sneak up on him and he’d never see it coming.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “But he’d still have the high ground!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “It’s always you and the high ground!” Reginnvaldr cried.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>    “That’s because I know how to fight!”</em>
</p><p>    For all their arguing on the ride back, they must not have exhausted their thoughts or come to an agreement, because the same kind of argument was taking place now. Gavin slouched in his stool, cursing its lack of back and listened in on yet another battle idea.</p><p>    “You can’t access Østen from the east, that’s another week or two of sailing at least” Reginnvaldr said, rubbing his temple. “And what’s more we’d have to ride in even father.” The map they had spread out across the table was much easier to decipher than the dirt scribbles they’d used while riding back to Ribe, but Gavin still didn’t think they were particularly useful. Val pointed to an unmarked area above the stone marking Eyesteinn’s keep. “I still think our best bet is landing far north and riding in. If anything, he’d be expecting us from the south since that’s where we are. His fortifications are going to be weaker up north. That gives us more time to take out his men, and maybe even that damned cow, before they can properly face us.”</p><p>    Ivar slammed his hands on the table and growled loudly. Gavin didn’t even blink. They’d been at this for hours now, not even including their arguments on the ride back. He was immune to Ivar’s ranting and Val’s increasingly terse words. He wasn’t, however, immune to the backache slowly forming from his poor posture. </p><p>    “What’s stopping us from landing with his ships and taking the keep by storm?” Jack asked. He looked similarly tired and his words were more matter-of-fact than usual, but he was at least making an effort at presenting new ideas instead of just repeating himself like Ivar and Reginnvaldr. Gavin could have kissed him for that.</p><p>    “The fact that there’d be at least three dozen warriors around his docks! And there’s no longer route to Eyesteinn’s hall than from the coast!” Ivar cried. He pointed emphatically to the Eyesteinn pebble which was indeed a fair distance from the coast, but no farther than anywhere else in Gavin’s humble opinion.</p><p>    “Well what about just going in from the south?” Michael asked. Gavin laughed out loud at the look of incredulity on Val’s face and the irritation on Ivar’s. At least something entertaining was happening. Michael glanced at Gavin and then back to the others. “What?”</p><p>    “Ivar’s said the same thing and I’ve told him we can’t a dozen times already.”</p><p>    “Have you been listening at all?!” Ivar hollered, voice cracking for the first time since Gavin had met him. It sent new waves of giggles through Gavin that he tried desperately to quell. Michael’s face went through a series of expressions. Gavin caught irritation and then resignation before Michael settled on bravado.</p><p>    “Nah, I stopped about half way through.”</p><p>    Ivar looked like he was half a second away from exploding when Meg chimed in. </p><p>    “I’ve been consciously ignoring you the entire time,” she said, matter of fact tone punctuated by her continuing to clean her nails and neglecting to even glance Ivar’s way. Michael’s sharp laugh nearly covered Ivar’s resulting rant and Val attempting to get everyone back on track. Gavin laughed for a bit, but found his eyes drifting back to the map. They’d discussed every option he could possibly think of, and nothing was perfect. Everything they thought of was riddled with holes. Even accounting for Mardǫll’s and Jornand’s men, their chance of reaching Eyesteinn were slim, no matter which direction they approached from or what means they used to attack. </p><p>    Gavin studied the shoddily drawn map. It was difficult to see exactly which bead represented which battalion and where exactly Eyesteinn’s fort was located, but it didn’t really matter. The map was an approximation more than anything, though Reginnvaldr swore his allies from the south would be capable of providing them a more accurate map if they so desired. </p><p>    For now, the little pebble sat innocuously in its place and Gavin pondered the little beads representing their troops, all clustered together north of the pebble. An idea struck him. </p><p>    “How hard would it be for someone to get to Eyesteinn’s ships without him noticing?” Gavin asked. No one paid him any mind, though Gavin really couldn’t fault them considering Ivar had yet to stop bellowing at a still laughing Michael and Meg. He tried again, raising his voice. “How hard would it be to get to Eyesteinn’s ships?”</p><p>    Ivar finally stopped shouting, though he continued to give Michael and Meg dirty looks. For their part, Michael and Meg adopted equally unbelievable expressions of innocence. “It’s impossible,” Ivar told Gavin.</p><p>    “No, I mean, how hard would it be for a half dozen men to get to those ships on foot?”</p><p>    Ivar looked at Gavin flatly, face neutral save one raised eyebrow. “Why on Oðinn’s great green earth, would we want to do that?”</p><p>    “Because we’re going to burn them,” Gavin said, mind racing. He could see it clearly in his head, as if it were happening right in front of him. “It’d block off the sea for retreat.”</p><p>    “And what do you propose we do after burning his ships and alerting everyone and their mother that we’re there?” </p><p>    Gavin didn’t care much for Ivar’s tone and shot him a look. “How many did you say we’d have in total, Val? Including those southern allies?”</p><p>    “Around ten thousand, I’d wager.” Gavin was pleased at the answer and pleased to see that Reginnvaldr didn’t share his brother’s instant disregard of the idea. </p><p>    Gavin grabbed the beads representing their troops and placed three beneath Eyesteinn’s fort. Another three to the east, another three to the north. The last three beads he put between each group of three, southeast, northeast, and northwest of the fort.</p><p>    “How many men to a bead?” </p><p>    “About eight hundred,” Jack replied immediately. He looked the most interested in Gavin’s idea out of anyone there. Gavin silently thanked his friend for his faith and continued.</p><p>    “Three groups of eight-hundred in the north, three in the south, three ‘round the back. Then one group of eight-hundred on three of the corners,” he pointed to the beads in question as he spoke. Then he pointed to the coastline. “We burn the ships and there’s no way out.”</p><p>    A beat of silence and then everyone was talking at once. Gavin couldn’t for the life of him make out what anyone was saying, but noted Jack nodding with a shrewd look fixed upon the map. That, at least, was a good sign. Val nudged Gavin’s shoulder and smiled at him when he looked over. That was an even better sign.</p><p>    “Alright!” Ivar finally bellowed over the din. The room grew quiet once again. Ivar waved a hand at Val who took the prompt.</p><p>    “It’s a good idea,” he said. His eyes were back on the map, but he had taken Gavin’s hand in his own. It was a comfort Gavin hadn’t realized he’d been yearning for while they’d been strategizing. </p><p>    “It’s brutal,” Michael said, but he didn’t sound disgusted. “Trap them in and let them run right on into us.”</p><p>    “It’s foolish and impossible,” Ivar argued. He pointed to the three beads east of the fort. “We’ve already decided that getting men so far over would be a waste of time.”</p><p>    “But how much faster can some two thousand men travel?” Meg mused. “I admit, I think it’d still take too long, but it’d be faster than trying to move all ten thousand eastward.”</p><p>    “Exactly, it’d still take too long. How fast can two, three, thousand men move? How quietly? We don’t want Eyesteinn or his shite cow knowing we’re there, or have you forgotten that?”</p><p>    “Then how do we fix that?” Gavin asked. Ivar was smart and from their brief time together, Gavin already knew he liked a challenge so when Ivar turned to him with a face filled with incredulity, he sat up straighter and repeated himself. “We want three thousand or so men eastward of Eyesteinn’s fort. We want them there fast, we want them there undetected. How do we do it, Ivar?”</p><p>    Ivar looked ready to protest but closed his mouth and inhaled deeply. He pursed his lips together so hard that they all but disappeared beneath his mustache. Those shrewd eyes starred unblinkingly at the map.</p><p>    “Østen is on the coast. Their western edge is beach and ships,” Ivar started, voice precise. Gavin was reminded of the way he recited poetry. “What’s the land like?”</p><p>    “Favorable,” Val said. “Hills and some uncleared woodland.”</p><p>    “How many miles until the south fleets would be out of sight with those hills and woodland?”</p><p>    “Fifteen miles? Give or take.”</p><p>    Ivar tapped the coastline and dragged a finger downwards and across to the east beads. “Three-thousand men on foot, packed lightly as possible, moving through that woodland. It’s some thirty miles to the east—“</p><p>    “Closer to forty,” Val interrupted. Ivar nodded and tapped the eastern portion of the map. </p><p>    “Some forty miles to the east. Three thousand men, on foot, through woodland. Three days from landing to get to their position. You get your battalion of eight hundred to break off at the south-east,” here Ivar picked up the south-east bead and replaced it hard enough to make a faint tapping sound upon the map. “And that’s your eastern troops taken care of.”</p><p>    “Three days asks too much, they’d be going through the woods for Oðinn’s sake!” Gavin said. Never mind that it was his idea in the first place, he wouldn’t have his warriors worn out before the battle even began. Ivar huffed in annoyance.</p><p>    “They’re going to have to manage! Any longer and they’d be slowed down by the weight of their supplies and more importantly, the longer they take, the more likely Eyesteinn is to go out and notice them.”</p><p>    Gavin was ready to argue that they could make it work but Reginnvaldr spoke before he could. “He’s right. It doesn’t give them much time, but any longer they’d risk being seen. And what’s more, prolonging their travel would leave those men too tired to fight.”</p><p>    Despite still thinking three days was far too short, Gavin nodded. He wasn’t the expert on marching here, if both Ivar and Val said it was fine, he’d believe them. “So forty miles in three days for the east. How quickly can our battalions at the north and south move?”</p><p>    “Accounting for that fifteen mile sight line, I’d say we could do it in five hours,” Ivar said. </p><p>    “And what of the men here?” Gavin tapped the north-eastern bead, it had to have been at least ten miles farther. </p><p>    “Another two hours if they’re quick about it.”</p><p>    Gavin nodded and squinted at the map. Three days for the east, seven hours for the north and south. The bead closest to the coast could be the ones in charge of burning Eyesteinn’s ships. It was possible.</p><p>    “And how long to sail from Ribe to Eyesteinn?”</p><p>    “No longer than a day if we go through the pass,” Jack answered. Gavin vaguely recalled a river system to the north of Ribe. He remembered Eyesteinn demanded passage through there what felt like a lifetime ago. It was fitting that they would use it now against him. </p><p>    “So the eastern group is set off first to make the trek, then the northern and southern groups. Then I want a small group to set fire to the docks,” Gavin said, tapping the western edge of Eyesteinn’s keep. “Which, if they do their job properly, should signal the northern and southern groups to attack, right?”</p><p>    “There’s no sense in trying to coordinate each group to attack at the same time, there’s no way any smoke signal can be seen in the dark forty miles away,” said Jack.</p><p>    “No, not at all,” Ivar agreed absently. He seemed to be lost in through, eyes flickering around the map as if looking hard enough would reveal answers.</p><p>    “How’s this?” Val said after a beat. “We have a central command somewhere here,” he pointed to a space south of the docks but still rather close to Østen. “We have a scout from each of the major battalions communicate when they’re in position—a quick man on horseback could ride far longer than some forty miles in a day—and we give them a time, say some three days, before attack.”</p><p>    Gavin was struck with the image of a black sky, the stars lost without a moon amongst the expanse. Gone was the table inside the hall, gone were his companions. He blinked and the black sky remained. It crackled like lightning behind his eyes, and Gavin carefully rubbed his eyes to dispel the uncomfortable sensation. When he stopped, the image was gone and he was back in the hall, with nothing out of the ordinary. Gavin glanced at Val but he was still absorbed in the map. </p><p>    “That’d be trusting your couriers to count,” Meg joked and Reginnvaldr gave her a smile, genuine despite the fatigue written into it. </p><p>    “So when are we doing this?” Jack asked. “Sounds like we have the best we’re going to get. If we rush into this, we’re liable to fuck ourselves over. If we wait too long, we risk losing our support or alerting Eyesteinn.”</p><p>    “The new moon,” Gavin answered immediately. Several pairs of eyes blinked owlishly at him. Gavin cleared his throat. “What I mean is, we attack on the night of the new moon. It’s perfect yeah? It’ll be harder for Eyesteinn to see us, harder for him to see how many of us there are, and it gives us time to prepare.”</p><p>    “Sure, it makes it harder for Eyesteinn to see us. And for us to see him,” Ivar grumbled, but he continued. “When is the next new moon?” </p><p>    “A few days from now,” Gavin replied immediately despite not recalling the moon’s cycle until that moment. “So we wait until the next one.”</p><p>    “A month to prepare ten thousand men for war,” Ivar scrubbed a hand over his short beard and exhaled noisily. “We best get to training then.”</p><p>⁂</p><p>    “We call this one the bear pit,” Ivar said with a grin. Gavin did not trust that grin in the slightest. That grin promised bad things. “We have one lucky man—can I get a volunteer?” Predictably, no hands shot up and each fighter present hunched in on themselves. Ivar snorted and pointed to Jeremy. “We have this lucky man ready with arms here, and a number of others lined up ready to fight him.” </p><p>    Ivar counted the fighters present. What with Áslaug’s forces and Ivar’s own men taking up temporary residence in Ribe they’d had no choice but to convene at a clearing outside of Ribe proper. The sparring ring was far too small to host the numbers of warriors. While not every able fighter was present at this particular time, Gavin had spied at least a good hundred. And if he squinted, he could make out another group of hundred a mile or so to the east, where Áslaug had set up camp.</p><p>    “We’ll go easy on you this time,” Ivar said and Gavin refocused on a hopeless looking Jeremy. “Let’s get you ten fighters in a line. Little lad you’re to fight off one man until they concede or until you strike something that would have been vital. That man will go to the back of the line while you face the next one, and so on until you’re defeated. When you’re defeated, your victorious opponent will take your place in the pit, and you head to the end of the line. Understand?”</p><p>    Jeremy looked half disbelieving, half terrified at the prospect but nodded. Gavin grimaced. He didn’t much fancy his turn in the pit, though he knew it would be inevitable. Ivar instructed several other groups of eleven to gather in the same manner and with a bellow of “Lay on!” they were off.</p><p>    Gavin watched as the warrior in his bear pit easily dispatched the first two lined up and was swiftly defeated by the third. The third lasted only one fighter before he too tapped out. And then it was Gavin's turn against the fourth. He noted the man’s unbalanced stance and took advantage of it by shoving the man sideways with his shield. The man tripped and Gavin gently tapped his practice axe against the man’s helmet. </p><p>    The man returned to the back of the line with a groan and the it was Gavin's turn. He lasted longer than the others, able to take down five men before exhaustion caught up with him and had him lose to the first man. Panting, Gavin took his place at the back of the line.</p><p>    “’S bloody hard one right after the other!” he wheezed to the man in front of him. The warrior laughed, still out of breath and nodded his assent. </p><p>    “Sometimes Ivar gets mean and has the one fighter stay in the pit until he’s won against all the bears at least once,” said the third warrior, a woman with a stylish helmet. “At least he's not doing that this time, or we’d be here for twenty years while Sven tried to beat someone!”</p><p>    “Oh fuck off!” The mentioned Sven hollered from his place in line.</p><p>    Gavin laughed, but quickly enough sobered when it became his turn to fight yet again. Dodging, striking, parrying, every time it was his turn. Gavin quickly grew tired and then exhausted as the afternoon dragged on. By the time Ivar called for an end to the bear pits, Gavin was absolutely coated in dirt and sweat and could barely lift his axe high enough to strap it to his belt. </p><p>    While Gavin desperately wanted a bath, he knew the bathhouse would be full for the next several hours, and with his arms aching like they did, he had no desire to lug water from the stream to bathe himself. So he contented himself with watching the various fighters mill around or wander back to their tents. Some looked as exhausted as he felt while others were nearly skipping around with their left over adrenaline. It was a brutal day, and the following weeks would likely be just as grueling as they prepared for attack.</p><p>    “Glad to see you’re still standing,” Ivar’s voice came, sounding somewhat strained. Gavin looked up to see him making his way over, looking far more put together than the rest of the fighters, but still tired from the day. Gavin imagined he himself had the harder day of it, but conceded that yelling orders and correcting fighting forms all day likely took its own toll. </p><p>    Though Gavin thought his own arms probably hurt more.</p><p>    “It was a good exercise,” he replied. “Though I’d certainly like to practice going against multiple men at once sometime soon. The pit was good for stamina, but not much else.”</p><p>    Ivar hummed his assent. “Few more days of melees and pits, first. These men are too green for my liking.”</p><p>    “I’m certain you could meet Þórr himself and declare the god too inexperienced in battle.”</p><p>    “Bah!” Ivar waved him off. “I expect excellence. There’s nothing wrong with that.”</p><p>    “There is if you expect it too soon.” Gavin looked up to see Reginnvaldr striding towards them, somehow managing to look regal despite his plain work-clothes. He greeted his brother with a nod and pressed a chaste kiss into Gavin’s temple. “How goes it?”</p><p>    “Your men are good fighters, as I’m sure you're aware,” Ivar said. “They’re not the best—not yet anyways—but it's only a matter of time.”</p><p>    “You’re a good man, Ivar.”</p><p>    “And you smell like a barn-rat’s ass, what were you doing, rolling in the hay?”</p><p>    Val snickered. “Helping Mica at the forge, actually. And you don’t exactly smell like pine yourself, spending all that time in the sun.”</p><p>    “How do you even know what a barn-rat’s ass smells like?” Gavin asked with a faux-demure expression. He batted his eyelashes innocently when Ivar fixed him with an unamused stare. </p><p>    “Because I know everything,” Ivar replied deadpan and without missing a beat asked, “Where’s the blasted baths in this place of yours?” Val pointed the distant house out and with a vague wave, Ivar was leaving, bearers giving their own respectful nods of departure.</p><p>    “Have good time, Gavin?” Val asked. </p><p>    “I did. But if Ivar springs the bear pit on us again tomorrow, I may consider fratricide.” </p><p>    Val laughed. “I’ll let him know. In the meantime…?” Gavin glanced towards his mate and groaned when he saw Reginnvaldr hold up an axe of his own with a hopeful expression. </p><p>    “I’ve just gone through the longest training of my life, Val. I don’t think I can spare the energy to spar.” Gavin stretched and could feel his muscles creak as he did. “Honestly, if I make it to bed, I’ll count it a win.”</p><p>    Val kept that goofy expression and waved his axe teasingly. “You’re saying you can’t spare a measly ten minutes to spar with your beloved alpha?” He poked Gavin with the butt of the axe. “You can last ten minutes, can’t you?”</p><p>    Gavin fixed him with an unimpressed look and raised an eyebrow. “I think if either of us have trouble with lasting, it’s you, my love.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr chuckled and twirled his axe between his hands. Gavin snorted at his showing off even if it was an impressive little twirl. “I think I can prove you wrong,” Val said, stalking closer to Gavin. He took a deep breath in at Gavin’s neck. “You smell good.”</p><p>    “Val, that’s disgusting!” Gavin protested, wrinkling his nose at his mate. “I smell like I’ve been sweating my arse off for the past three hours. ’S not a good smell.” Reginnvaldr just laughed and pulled back far enough to show off the axe in his hand again.</p><p>    “What do you say beloved? Just one fight?” Reginnvaldr affixed a faux-pout to his face, utterly unbelievable from the mischievous glint in his eyes. He tapped his axe against Gavin’s axe so that they audibly clinked. He leaned in and grazed his teeth over Gavin’s ear. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he whispered.</p><p>    With a promise like that, Gavin reasoned he had no choice but to withdraw his hand axe. His arms did hurt quite a bit, but not so much that he couldn’t spar with his mate for a few minutes. And besides, the way Reginnvaldr kept looking Gavin up and down assured him that the fight certainly <em>would </em>be worth his while.</p><p>    “I’m not going easy on you just because you’re pretty,” Gavin taunted, rolling his shoulders. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr laughed. “Noted. And I won’t be going easy on you either, beloved.” He nodded towards Gavin's abandoned practice shield. “Shields?”</p><p>    Gavin licked his lips slowly. “I should think not. I want to feel you when we fight.” By Val’s sharp inhale, his words did what they were meant to. Perhaps it was fighting dirty to get his mate so hot and bothered before their sparring match, but Gavin couldn’t find it in himself to care. Besides, he’d need every advantage he could get with Val. The man had been fighting since before he could walk.</p><p>    “As you wish.” With that, Val shifted into his fighting stance and began circling Gavin slowly. </p><p>    Gavin raised his axe to a more defensive position, already accounting for what would be an undoubtedly quick and impressive first attack. For all his insecurities and flaws off the battlefield, Reginnvaldr had precious few shortcomings on the field and Gavin knew he would need to be on his top game to last more than a minute.</p><p>    Val’s first strike was easily deflected and Gavin huffed in annoyance, shooting Val a exasperated look. Val smiled cheekily and danced back out of Gavin’s range. Though he was hesitant to throw a shot of his own, Gavin popped out his axe, arcing it at the last minute to sail towards Val’s thigh. It was a loudly choreographed move and Gavin didn’t expect it to hit, but he wanted to get a sense of where Reginnvaldr held his weight, how he blocked. Gavin had only seen him fight a few times and never paid the right kind of attention to his stance or his movement. </p><p>    “Gonna hit me lover?” Val teased, he twirled his axe again in a flashy show of arrogance. </p><p>    “I was waiting for you, alpha-mine,” Gavin retorted. Not to be outdone, Gavin eased out of his fighting stance and pressed both hands to his heart; the perfect image of a swooning noblewoman. “I was always told that alphas were meant to make the first move, after all.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr snickered. “Neither you nor I have ever been ones to follow what alphas and omegas should and shouldn’t be doing.”</p><p>    “I suppose you’re right,” Gavin said, acutely aware of how he was moving his body. Val was still relaxed, lulled into security by their banter. This was his opening. He slowly balanced his feet and softened his knees. “So how’s this?” As the words left his mouth, Gavin was darting forward and swinging his axe towards Val’s stomach. Though focused more on speed than strength, the dulled axe connected with his target and Reginnvaldr let out a grunt at the impact. With the lack of force, the hit would barely bruise, but it was the first shot he needed.</p><p>    The fight was on. Val growled, the sound sending shivers down Gavin’s back, and lunged at him. His axe moved so quickly it was a blur and Gavin struggled to block every hit. One finally got through and his side erupted in the throbbing ache characteristic of dulled steel. Reginnvaldr, the bastard, didn’t even look winded.</p><p>    Gavin leapt away and studied Reginnvaldr. He was fresh, likely had just finished his chores for the day, certainly hadn’t fought for three hours prior, and his practice axe was leagues lighter than his preferred sword. That thought gave Gavin pause. Reginnvaldr may be at the physical advantage with his height and body. While his strength and use of the sword made the axe easier to swing, Gavin could use that. Val wasn't used to using axes and Gavin was. He just needed to find the best way to push that advantage.</p><p>    The met in the middle again, Val trying to get a wrap shot on Gavin’s backside and being rebuffed with Gavin’s axe. They twisted together, arms blocking one another, axes clattering harshly together, eyes alight with adrenaline and excitement. At one particular swing, Gavin saw his opening. </p><p>    Reginnvaldr had swung upwards, no doubt using his height and bulk to block an attempted retaliation, but his legs and back were completely open. If he swung at Val’s back and switched at the last moment to strike at his axe, Gavin might be able to disarm Val. He just had to be fast enough. </p><p>    The dust from their footwork was settling in Gavin’s beard and making his eyes water, but when Reginnvaldr hit the peak of his swing, he struck. Gavin swung his axe as hard as he could, let it be easily seen. His axe passed Val’s ribs and Reginnvaldr moved to block it. Gavin let out a feral-sounding growl and swung his axe upward at the last moment. He heard the clatter of steel against itself and then a shout of surprise. He pushed harder until the resistance of Val’s axe gave out and he heard the tell-tale sound of an axe hitting dirt.</p><p>    It worked. Gavin allowed himself a moment to relish the sight of Val’s practice axe on the dusty ground before looking to his mate. Reginnvaldr looked shocked, mouth open and eyes wide, staring uncomprehendingly at the axe on the ground. Gavin smirked. “Thought you were supposed to last longer than me this time?” </p><p>    Val’s eyes shot to Gavin and Gavin gasped at the heat he saw there. Reginnvaldr stalked towards him, axe left to its fate on the ground, and pulled Gavin in close until he could feel Val’s arousal pressed against him even through layers of cloth. Reginnvaldr growled and Gavin whined shakily at the sound.</p><p>    “That may have been the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen you do,” Val growled against Gavin’s throat. Gavin's eyes fluttered as Val gently bit at his mating scar. “If I could, I’d take you right here.”</p><p>    “Why don’t you?” Gavin said back, voice breathy and high. He grinned at the hoarse moan Val let out. “You could fuck me right here.” The idea was making him a bit hot under the tunic as well. They were in the middle of the field. Even with Ivar’s and Áslaug’s camps being further out, anyone could walk outside their tent for some fresh air and see them pressed together. The thought sent shivers up Gavin's spine.</p><p>    Feeling bold and <em>hungry</em>, Gavin reached his hand in between them to grope at Reginnvaldr’s clothed arousal. He could feel the thickness of it twitch in his hand, even through the layers. Gavin stood on his tip toes and grazed his teeth against Reginnvaldr’s neck relishing in the way his breath picked up pace. Just as quickly, Gavin darted away from his mate and held his axe up, twirling it in a way not dissimilar to how Reginnvaldr had. </p><p>    “Care for another fight, alpha-mine?” Gavin asked, saccharinely sweet and so teasing that he almost felt bad for Val. Almost.</p><p>    “I think I ought to toss you over my knee instead,” Reginnvaldr growled, prowling closer. Gavin darted back again, gesturing with his axe toward’s Val’s abandoned one. </p><p>    “If you want to do that, you better <em>win</em>.” </p><p>    The words must have tickled some deep, primal instinct within Reginnvaldr because he growled and narrowed his eyes. Gavin kept his axe aloft as Val stalked back to pick his own up. Once rearmed, Reginnvaldr wasted no time in throwing shot after shot at Gavin. The blows came in such a flurry that Gavin nearly lost his axe in the chaos. He kept darting backwards, but Val kept pushing closer. There was nowhere to go. To try and get some breathing room, and to try and stay the continuous blows, Gavin shoved Val as hard as he could. Reginnvaldr didn’t even shift his weight.</p><p>    “Fuck,” Gavin whined, barely dodging a shot. “Fuck, Val that was hot.”</p><p>    The blows stopped, for which Gavin’s sore arms praised the gods. “Oh yeah?” Val rumbled back. “You like how strong I am?” Gavin watched as Reginnvaldr pressed in closer. He tried putting his axe up as a half-hearted attempt at blocking his mate, but it was batted away with little more than a flick of Val’s wrist. “You like how big I am?” Val was nearly caging Gavin in, axe and free arm held out <em>just so.</em></p><p>Contrary to every inch of his body screaming at him to present for his mate then and there, Gavin swung upwards, his axe catching on Val’s side. Before he could celebrate his victory, however, he was knocked to the ground, breath half knocked out and dust coating the back of his tunic.</p><p>    Val pinned him decisively, hands around his wrists, legs over Gavin’s hips. Those eyes glimmered in amusement and desire when he looked down on Gavin. “Do I win?” Val teased.</p><p>    Gavin groaned at the sensation of being pinned down and groaned even louder when Val shifted his weight and that hardness pressed into his own arousal. “Only if you fuck me like this,” Gavin panted. The wrecked moan that Val gave in reply made Gavin smirk and grind his hips up.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr ducked his head to bite at Gavin’s neck, still keeping him pinned down. “So are you my prize?” Val pressed that thick cock hard against Gavin, chuckling when he whined. </p><p>    “Not, ah, not much of a prize if you’re just going to keep me here,” Gavin retorted. He was rather proud of himself for managing to reply despite the heat curling in his stomach. He bucked his hips up against Val but couldn’t get any friction.</p><p>    Val hummed and pulled away, leaving Gavin to shoot him a look. The feeling of Val’s hand cupping him through his tunic quickly put an end to any further complaint. “I could look at you for hours, beloved.” Reginnvaldr said. His hand snuck under the tunic to play with the waist seam of Gavin’s trousers. Gavin shuddered at the teasing touch on such delicate skin and flushed when he heard Val’s noise of delight.</p><p>    “But I think I ought to fuck you into the dirt instead,” Val growled, sneaking that hand inside Gavin’s trousers but leaving it there, so close to where Gavin wanted it most. With one quick motion, he yanked Gavin’s trousers down to his knees, leaving him bare against the earth. When he moved to kick the trousers off completely, Val placed a hand on his hip to stop him. </p><p>    “Will you, er, leave them on?” Val asked, looking a little embarrassed. </p><p>Gavin grinned and nodded. “You want me all tied up, don’t you alpha-mine?” </p><p>    The blazing red that rushed to Reginnvaldr’s cheeks confirmed it and Gavin snickered. He could certainly oblige him. With the smile still on his face, Gavin spread his legs as wide as the trousers would let him and clasped his hands together above his head. The marveled “fuck” he received in return was well worth the irritation that would come from not being able to touch his mate.</p><p>    “Tell me if you need me to stop,” Reginnvaldr commanded. </p><p>    “Of course.”</p><p>    That was all it took for Val to resume his fervent bites and sucking kisses on Gavin’s neck. He trailed his mouth down to Gavin's clavicle and proceeded to suck bruises into the skin, a necklace of ruby and onyx to accompany the gold of his collar. Two fingers trailed down from Gavin’s groin, completely ignoring his cock, and plunged into him without preamble. </p><p>    Gavin arched his back with a panted curse and was forced back down again by Val’s free hand. “More,” he pleaded, wiggling and rocking his hips back onto Val’s fingers. “Push me down again!”</p><p>    His demand was met instantly when Val pressed his body into him. It was harder for Reginnvaldr to finger him like this, but the weight was a reassuring pressure. He wriggled harder, just to see if he could escape and moaned when he couldn’t. “Gonna fuck me into the dirt like you promised?” Gavin taunted. </p><p>    His bravado turned to needy whining when Val withdrew his fingers. Before Gavin could protest in any other capacity, he was being manhandled on to his hands and knees, Val’s mouth never too far from his skin ready to press another bruising kiss. The new position had Gavin instinctively arching his spine. He shot a coy look back at his mate and swayed his hips.</p><p>    Reginnvaldr was back on him in an instant, cock still clothed and pressed firmly against Gavin’s backside. One hand came to rest on Gavin’s hips and the other trailed its way up his spine before settling on his neck, light enough to not cause pain, but firm and steady in its weight. Gavin felt owned with that hand on his neck and those bruises blossoming on his chest. </p><p>    The wool and linen standing between him and Val’s cock was quickly becoming infuriating. “Aren’t you going to claim your prize?” Gavin whined. The hand on his hip tightened momentarily before retracting. Gavin could hear the rustling of clothing and then the hard press of Val’s cock against his ass. Despite having every opportunity to fuck into him, Reginnvaldr only ground his cock against Gavin. The emptiness was driving him mad, he was sure.</p><p>    “Val, please Val!”</p><p>    “What is it, my beloved?” Reginnvaldr purred. His cock caught on Gavin’s hole. “Do you want me to fill you up, breed you deep? Or maybe I should get myself off and just stroke you with my fingers until you come.” The hand on his neck retracted and Gavin glanced back to see Val take himself in hand and made a sound of dissent. “Oh no? My little omega doesn't like that? What would you have me do, hmm?”</p><p>    “Fuck me, dammit!” Gavin demanded. He was half tempted to reach back and guide Val inside himself, but he kept his hands where they were. “Or I’ll get up right now, so help me—“</p><p>    He cut himself off with a shaky moan as Val pressed the head of that thick cock inside. </p><p>    “Or you’ll what, beloved?” </p><p>    Val was entirely too snarky for his preference so Gavin replied by bearing down and taking all of Val’s cock. The growled moan that greeted him was a welcome one. Gavin didn’t stop, and pulled forward again before bearing back, fucking himself while his mate’s hands squeezed his hips tighter and tighter.</p><p>    “Oh that’s how you want to play?” Without another word, Reginnvaldr wrapped his hands around Gavin’s chest and fucked into him. The sudden increase in pace and the sensation of being bodily covered had Gavin’s eyes rolling back in pleasure. </p><p>    Their bodies smacked against one another in a lewd staccato, and Gavin distantly wondered if the noise would attract investigation. If anyone might see them rolling in the dirt like animals, fucking in the open for anyone to see. </p><p>    “How do you feel, omega-mine?” Val asked. His thrusts became more controlled, deeper, and Gavin could only offer a strangled moan in response. Reginnvaldr was able to fuck him so <em>deep. </em>“Do you like it when I fill you up?” Gavin nodded helplessly, beholden to the waves of pleasure that rolled through him every time Val thrust forward. Gavin could feel the pleasure building, inching him closer and closer to the edge. He reached a hand down to stroke himself but was stopped when Val grabbed his hand.</p><p>    “No my beautiful Gavin,” he teased, breathing heavy. “You’re going to come from my cock.” </p><p>    Gavin shuddered at the words even as he whined in frustration. “Better make sure you fuck me—<em>ah</em>—fuck me good then.” Reginnvaldr began thrusting quicker, barely pulling out before fucking in again, like he couldn’t stand being outside Gavin. </p><p>    Gavin could feel the way Val stretched him, could feel the way he pressed against his limits. It was a dizzying sensation and Gavin was desperate for more. “Breed me,” he panted. “I want you to come inside me.”    </p><p>    Reginnvaldr hunched over Gavin now, caging him and fucking into him so fast that Gavin was blindsided by how quickly he felt himself nearing the edge. The drag of Val’s cock was overwhelming, pressing deeper and fucking harder with each thrust. And just like that, Gavin let himself fall over the edge. His legs and arms shook at the force of his orgasm and he could feel himself clenching down on Val. His mate's knot swelled so quickly that Gavin’s orgasm hadn’t even ended before he was being knotted deep, come pouring inside him. The feeling had his mouth slack and eyes shut tight. Such a base marking had his instincts purring and Gavin relished in the feeling. </p><p>    Outside of rut, Val’s knot began softening quickly. Gavin huffed as Val pulled out gently. “Wanted you to stay in longer.”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr groaned. “Believe me, Gav, if I could I’d let you drive me into rut every day so I could fill you up for <em>hours</em>.” </p><p>    It was Gavin’s turn to groan. “You can’t just say things like that! Now I want to go again!”</p><p>    Reginnvaldr laughed and Gavin heard the rustles of clothing being pulled up. He twisted back and pouted at his redressed mate. </p><p>    “I’ll fuck you full again tonight, omega-mine,” Val promised, voice deep and eyes intense. “And I’ll make sure you’re bred so deep that you forget all about your sore muscles and training.” Val laughed again at Gavin’s answering groan and pulled his trousers up for him before helping Gavin to his feet. </p><p>    Gavin felt like a newborn foal with how much his legs shook. He smiled when Reginnvaldr offered him an arm and allowed himself to be led to the—now hopefully vacant—springs for a much needed bath.</p><p>    “Hmm, or maybe next time, <em>I’ll </em>fuck <em>you</em>,” Gavin said as they opened the blessedly empty bathhouse. The startled arousal on Reginnvaldr’s face said all Gavin needed to know and he dragged his delighted looking mate into the bathhouse with a laugh.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter is dedicated to my lovely military history and geographer friend Eamon (who had some help from my other lovely friend Ben)! When I asked for advice on Ivar's implementation of Gav's plan, the lads gave me the most likely and most useful period war strategies. Thanks Eamon and Ben. Now your intelligence is immortalized in my gay Viking porn. &lt;3</p><p>I'm a little burned out for concise description of cool historical things, so I will leave you with the lovely lay <a href="http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/">Viking Answer Lady</a> page. This SCAdian has researched in DEPTH about Viking history, material culture, and daily life. While a majority of the scholarship has moved on (for example, we now know the Vikings were queer, that women had a comparably incredible amount of autonomy, that they were more global explorers/traders, etc,) she still stands as an excellent source of general information about the Viking Age.</p><p>EDIT: Forgot to add where Michael's and Meg's goofy "Ignoring you was a conscious decision" bit came from! The lovely <a href="https://incorrectahbois.tumblr.com/post/188850197519/the-fake-ah-crew">incorrectahbois</a> over on tumblr!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please let me know what you think!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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